The Ice Mans Daughter
by clareabell7
Summary: It was then, when Mycroft Holmes began to feel the ice thaw and the walls crack as a piece of his broken heart found its way back. And that, dear reader scared him more than he could say. What will the Ice Man do when his long lost daughter comes back into his life? Will his heart thaw? Or will his selfish ways lead him to ruin?
1. Chapter 1

_**Selfishness**__- Devoted to or caring only for oneself; concerned primarily with one's own interests, benefits, welfare, etc., regardless of others. Characterized by or manifesting concern or care only for oneself: selfish motives. _

Mycroft Holmes is a selfish man; everyone knows that. Even he himself knows, and he is not bothered by it in the slightest. Selfishness, in the mind of Mycroft Holmes, is a very good thing. It's the thing that keeps everything going. It's the thing that allows him to separate from the "sentiment" of other people, the "sentiment" that holds everyone else back. So, yes, Mycroft Holmes is a selfish man, but he is also a brilliant one; and in his mind the two go hand in hand.

However, there was a time when Mycroft Homes thought differently; a time when selfishness had no place in his mind, or in his heart. There was a time when he allowed "sentiment" to get the best of him, and he let someone in. Her name was Anne, in case you were wondering. Yes, Mycroft loved Anne, even though he would never admit it; he did. He loved her more than himself, more than anything in the world; and rightfully so, for Anne was his wife. Anne was the one thing he let into his heart, well, until Clare was born.

He would do anything for his wife and child; he loved them more than he could say. They were a part of him. Though, as wonderful as that sounds, there are always risks involved when things become too important.

So, on May 9th 1997, Anne was taken away by a man with a grudge and an A-K 47.

And where she went, she took Mycroft's heart also.

_"There are those hearts, dear reader, that never truly mend once they have been broken; and if they do mend, they mend the crooked backwards way, as if they were sewn together by a careless craftsman."_ I read that in a children's book once and it never struck me how true it was until know.

So, Mycroft's heart did mend, but in the crooked backwards way. He chose to ignore the gaping hole in his heart, and become the selfish man he is today. For, in his mind, if all you have is yourself then you can't get hurt when the others leave. And they always leave.

In the midst of his despair, Mycroft sent his daughter away hoping that she would be safe from the dangers her mother fell victim to, and hoping that he was safe from getting attached to yet another person, and facing the possibility of losing them.

Fifteen years passed and Mycroft was a cold as ever. Nothing could penetrate the wall he had put around his, crooked, backwards heart. Or so he thought until this letter came.

_Dear Mr. Holmes,_

_ We regret to inform you that the guardian of your child has passed away. In light of the circumstances, and according to the agreement that you have signed, your child will now reside with you. Please contact our Agency to organize a meeting, and set the terms in place._

_Sincerely,_

_David Rodgers._

It was then, when Mycroft Holmes began to feel the ice thaw and the walls crack as a piece of his broken heart found its way back. And that, dear reader scared him more than he could say.

**-Hello! I want to thank you for reading this story! I really hope that you enjoyed this chapter! If you have comments feel free to review****. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, as long as you're nice about it! Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!**

**Ps. the quote for the child's story is from **_**The Tail of Desperaux-**_


	2. Courage

**Courage- The quality of mind or spirit that enables a person to face difficulty, danger, or pain.**

John Watson was a busy man. Busy solving crimes, saving lives, busy keeping Sherlock in check. He always seemed to have something to do, someone to fix, a bored Sherlock to pacify. This day, however, was one of the rare days in which he had time to breathe. Sherlock was reasonably entertained with a new experiment, no cases to solve; no new patients, only peace was left. All the doctor wanted in that moment, was the beautiful relief of freedom. Sipping his mug of tea, John breathed a sigh of contentment.

"Peace at last." He muttered, smiling.

There was a knock at the door, and The Doctors' peaceful aura was shattered.

Frowning, John shuffled out of his chair. "Oh no Sherlock I'll get it. No need to trouble yourself." He glared at the dark haired man lying on the sofa.

"I'm busy." Sherlock spoke in a monotone, and waved John off.

John glared at him once more before making the trek down the stairs, and reluctantly answered the door.

"Good morning, Doctor Watson." Mycroft greeted.

John ran a hand through his hair. "What do you want, Mycroft?"

"I require your assistance in a certain manor. I need someone who I can trust with a very…Special piece of cargo." As Mycroft spoke he fiddled more and more with his umbrella, upon his saying of the word special, John could have sworn he saw the Elder Holmes' hand shake in a nervous tremor.

John was confused. "Me? Why me of all people?"

Mycroft shrugged. "Everyone else was busy."

'_God damn it. I will never be un-busy.'_ John thought. "What is it?" John grumbled out the question, already tired of the situation.

Mycroft looked up, finally making eye contact with the doctor. "I need you to pick up a young woman by the name of Clare O'Connor at the air-port. I must also request that you have her stay the night with you and Sherlock. I will send a car for her in the morning. I can assure you that she will not be any trouble."

"What on Earth…What is this about? And why can't you do it your bloody self?"

"It is a personal matter and none of your concern, Doctor Watson. Also, I have my reasons for staying out of the picture, and they shall remain mine."

John felt a resounding No on the tip of his tongue. This was, after all, absolutely ridiculous. There was no way he could agree to this. But there was something in Mycroft's' eyes. A silent please, a well hidden, begging gaze, lost and confused, pleading at the doctor. Whoever this girl was, she was of some importance to the Elder Holmes and Mycroft was clearly trying to avoid her.

The Doctor sighed. "Fine. But I want you to answer me one question."

Mycroft fidgeted. "Yes?"

"Is this girl important to you?"

The Elder Holmes looked as if he was about to avoid the question. Though he could clearly tell that avoiding the question would result in him losing The Doctors' cooperation. Looking down, Mycroft breathed a quiet, "Yes."

John groaned. "Fine, I'll help, but you owe me."

John stood amongst the crowd of people, holding a sign with the girls name on it, all the while feeling like an idiot. Though, as he waited the more and more curious he became about this whole situation. _"What does she look like?"_ He had asked. Looking down, Mycroft had replied. _"I don't know. I have never met her."_

Curiouser, and curiouser, as Alice would say. Why on earth would Mycroft care about a girl he has never even met before…Since when did Mycroft care about anyone? All of this was starting to make The Doctor's head hurt.

Looking up, John saw a young girl wave at him. He smiled and returned her gesture.

Quickly, she strode over to him, slightly struggling with the large cases she was carrying. Small in stature, the girl was dwarfed by her many bags, as she clumsily made her way to John. Finally, looking very proud of herself, she faced The Doctor.

"Mr. Holmes?" Her wide, blue, doe eyes smiled up at John as she brushed her light-blonde hair from her face.

John smiled back, albeit a bit sadly. "No, I'm afraid Mr. Holmes couldn't meet you today but he's entrusted me to take care of you until tomorrow. I hope you're not too disappointed."

She shook her head. "No, not disappointed at all. I'm always happy to meet new people."

"Good to hear. Here, let me help you with those." John grabbed some of her bags. Very heavy, clearly this was going to be an extended stay.

After hailing a cab, they made the long journey back to 221B.

Clare fidgeted in the car, pulling on the sleeve of her oversized sweater, adjusting her boots and lightly tugging at her leggings. Once she seemed settled, she smiled at John again.

"So…Have you always lived in London?" She asked. Her accent was clearly American, however it was different from any other's John had heard, slightly southern with hints of Canadian. No doubt she was from part of the country he was unfamiliar with.

"Well, not always in London. I recently came back from the Army and took up residence here." He smiled, warmly at her.

She nodded, clearly trying to overcome a certain shyness. "It really is beautiful here." She said as she looked out the window. "Rainy, but beautiful." Looking back to The Doctor, she smiled again. She smiles a lot, he noted. However, there was a cloudiness in her eyes that even the brightest of smiles could not fix. The Doctor saw that look in Sherlock's' eyes from time to time. When he thought John wasn't looking

Watson nodded. "It is, indeed. Is this your first time in London?"

Clare laughed. "It's my first time out of the U.S. First time on a plane actually."

John felt a sudden fatherly instinct kick in. "First time on a plane, all by yourself?"

She shrugged, chuckling. "I prevailed. Although, I kind of freaked out when the guy next to me fell asleep on my shoulder but in the end it all worked out okay."

As the ride when on, the pair went on talking. John telling Clare stories all about his adventures with Sherlock, and his past adventures from the war, while Clare sat and listened, glad that John didn't ask her any questions. His adventure stories were a pleasant distraction from her pain, and the only things keeping her smiling.

They had given her a choice back home when her Grandmother died. Go and live with her father, or go and live with her Uncle, Mark. The uncle who had always been there, and whom she loved deeply should have been the obvious choice. But the stories, the stories her grandmother told about her father, about how great a man he was, how much he loved her and her mother. Clare had to see him, she had to try and connect.

However she couldn't ignore the fact that her father had neglected to see her at the air-port. The same father whom she called Mr. Holmes. _"You don't even know his name."_ _"He doesn't want to see you."_ _"You're all alone." _She thought. He had, after all, left her once he would undoubtedly leave her again. After all, that's what people do.

"Clare?"

She heard the Doctor's voice and smiled. "I'm listening."

But unknown to both the doctor and the daughter, Mycroft Holmes sat at his desk, staring at a picture of a woman, with smiling doe eyes, and light blonde hair. "My Annie…I hope she looks like you." He whispered. He couldn't have faced her not today, any day but May 9th. He could run, he could easily send her back home, he could easily forget this whole thing. He could easily save himself the pain. He glanced at the photo again.

"Enough." He said. "Enough now."

-Thanks to Devoted2You for following! I hope this chapter was good. Please review, and have a nice day!-


	3. Tocka

**Tocka (Russian) - A great longing with nothing to long for**

It was apparent to Sherlock Holmes that there were certain things people didn't talk about. He himself had his own secrets. However, that was something that came along with being a human. And as much as he would like to deny it, Sherlock Holmes was human. Though, that was one of his best kept secrets. And like most secrets, it stemmed from the presence of fear and pain.

The consulting detective leaned back in his chair, wondering what brought these thoughts on. As he looked at the date, all of it seemed to fall into place.

May 9th was a troubling day for both of the Holmes brothers. For, Mycroft did not only lose his wife, he had lost the only thing that seemed to make him somewhat human. And along with losing his Annie, he had lost his heart, and in turn, he had lost whatever remaining respect Sherlock had for him.

Throughout Sherlock's' life, he had always been sure that his elder brother, despite his strict and somewhat cold attitude, did really care for him. He had been the father figure in Sherlock's' life, a silent, somewhat annoying guardian standing watch over the younger Holmes. Though, as Sherlock began to grow up, he found his brother's worrying somewhat annoying. However, he had never doubted that his brother did really care, and that if things ever were too much to bear, Mycroft would come to save the day. And he could never deny that most of what he had learned had come from his older brothers' teachings.

After May 9th, Sherlock's' views changed.

Mycroft had taught him a new lesson. And that was to care about nothing, and to fear all emotional attachment. Even when it came to ones' little brother.

Sherlock had watched his brother change after that fateful day, from a silent guardian to a stone statue covering its eyes. Fearing to see what it had become and trying to isolate it's self from anything and everything that could possibly hurt it again. He watched his brother's heart break and watched him become a shellfish shell of the man he once was.

So it was on that day of loss and confusion that Sherlock watched his silent guardian crumble right before his eyes; installing forever in the young Holmes' mind a fear of getting too attached.

Just look at what it had done to his brother.

However, fear is something that we all have to overcome in our lives. And John Watson had given Sherlock the ability to do just that.

The consulting detective glanced at the date again.

It was too late for his brother.

"Sherlock! We have a guest!"

Upon hearing John's voice, the detective snapped out of his silent revere. "We don't have guests, John." Sherlock stood to face the new arrivals. "We have clients."

John looked to the girl standing next to him. "Well, there's a first for everything. Clare, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Clare O'Conner."

The consulting detective gave the girl a once over, and began to deduce. "American, approximately sixteen years old. Naturally blonde hair, but with added highlights. Judging by the amount of make-up on your face and the contacts in your eyes, you value taking care of your appearance and are trying to make up for your obvious insecurities."

John rolled his eyes, and turned to Clare. "I'm sorry…This is just how he is."

The girl smiled. "No, no. It's pretty cool actually." She smiled and turned to Sherlock. "Go on."

Sherlock shot one last victorious glance towards John before continuing his deduction. "Your clothes are distinctly American. Though you clearly obtained them from a thrift shop, they are good quality. Therefore, you are cautious of spending but you aren't cheap." He began to circle around her. "Judging by the calluses on your left hand, you play a string instrument. Also, you have a fair amount of muscle tone; however you have lost much of it and have gained weight. Seeing as your bone on your left hand curves out, you have injured yourself and can no longer play your sport. Volley-Ball was it? Yes of course it was. Your skin is quite pail, therefore you lived in a state with long winters. Your accent clearly states you spent much time in Northern Michigan, however you lived in Indiana. Hints the slight mix of accents."

Sherlock stopped suddenly. "But all of this is irrelevant." He looked into Clare's eyes. He had seen her before. He could swear he had seen her before. Those eyes…Where had he seen those eyes…

"Have we met?" He asked.

The girl shook her head. "No...I don't think so." She laughed. "But, it is nice to meet you." She stuck out her hand.

Sherlock ignored her. "Why are you here?"

"Sherlock…Enough." John growled.

"I will ask again. Why are _you_ here?"

Clare tilted her head. "Honestly…I don't really know myself." She paused. "But I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out soon enough." She put his hand in hers and shook it. "And when you do, you can tell me." Still shaking his hand, she laughed. "Besides, it might be fun."

Sherlock lifted an eye-brow. He liked this girl. "A pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Clare O'Conner."

"Dido." She said.

/

The trio sat in the lounge, munching on the takeout. Sherlock was unusually quiet, John noted.

He seemed to be in great thought. It was strange, the way he looked at Clare. It was almost as if he was looking back at something. Like she had unearthed something from his past. Something painful. But at the same time, Sherlock had taken to the girl, just as John himself had. But there was something about her, a sadness that barely seemed to show but it was just enough to make John want to protect her. He could see the same fire lighting inside Sherlock.

One question kept playing in The Good Doctors mind. What on Earth did this charming girl have to do with Mycroft Holmes?

He shrugged and chose not to think about it.

"This is really good." Clare beamed up at him.

John smiled back. "I'm glad you like it." He looked over at some of her cases, noting the two large instruments. Suddenly it hit him. He knew almost nothing about this girl. "What instruments do you play?" He asked, trying to make up for his lack of knowledge.

Before Clare could respond Sherlock sniffed out an answer. "Cello and guitar, obviously."

Clare mocked Sherlock's face and stuck her nose in the air, turning to John. "_Obviously_."

John chuckled, expecting Sherlock to retaliate. However, The Consulting detective just sat back in his chair, an odd look on his face.

Clare looked around. "Which one of you plays the violin?"

"I do." Sherlock said. He seemed to think for a moment, gazing intently into Clare's eyes. The girl looked away, obviously uncomfortable. Finally, he spoke. "Will you play?"

Clare shook her head. "What was that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Will you play for us?"

John smiled; this was a real improvement for Sherlock. He was never this…Normal. "That would be lovely." The Doctor said.

Clare looked defeated. "Fine…But it's your own fault if your ears bleed."

Walking over to the guitar case, Clare sat back down on the sofa. Softly, she began to strum the strings, a gentle melody springing from the instrument.

She began to sing.

_There are whispers in the silence_

_The smiles that are the smiled_

_The seen's that are the seen_

_There are the have's, the now's, and the what could have been's_

_There are the ends in the beginnings and the dreams of the never been's_

_There's something in this nothing_

_This nothing that came from something_

_There are whispers, oh, oh_

_There are whispers, oh, oh_

_There are whispers in the silence_

John had lost himself in the music. The beautifully bittersweet lyrics and the gentle strum of the guitar. It took him a moment to register that Sherlock had joined in with his violin. Playing along with Clare. It was a truly wonderful experience. But strangely heart breaking.

As the last lyric and notes echoed in the air. John felt chills hit his spine.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "That was satisfactory. Not that someone of your intelligence could do much better."

Clare laughed. "I'm glad to have met you Sherlock." She turned to John. "Both of you."

John patted her head. "I'm glad to have met you as well." He checked the time. "Well, it's late. We should be getting to bed."

Clare curled up on the couch. "Nighty night. Sleep tight. Don't let the bed bugs bight."

John chuckled. "Goodnight." He nodded at Sherlock and retreated back into the hall way.

Clare turned to Sherlock. "Aren't you going to bed?"

He shook his head. "Why are you glad to have met me?"

She tilted her head, looking thoughtful. "It's nice to have met someone who is so comfortable in their own skin." She paused and looked out the window.

"After all, my Nana always said, that you have to be happy with who you are. Because it's not like you're ever going to be anyone else." She continued to look out the window, a far off look in her blue eyes. "I guess I just have trouble taking that to heart and you don't. I think I admire you for that, Sherlock."

Sherlock pondered her answer before asking her another question. "Who exactly are you, Clare O'Conner?"

Clare thought for a long moment, looking out the window. Her gaze followed the life of the city, as if she was trying to find herself amongst the stars in the night sky. Finally, she spoke.

"No one special."

With one last smile, the girl bid the Detective a goodnight, leaving him to ponder her answer.

_**-Thanks to Guest (Whoever you are :D) and Lizella for reviewing! It means a lot to me! Also, thanks to IlCapo for following! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and have a nice day!-**_


	4. Til Death Do Us Part

**Hypocrisy- Enforcing, methods, beliefs, or virtues etc.; That one does not really posess.**

Sherlock turned down the winding corridors of his mind palace, looking for answers. He walked through, passing the many rooms filled with images of science and information. This was the first level of the palace; the rooms plain and logical and easy to access, only containing scientific mater and the information he used every day.

But this case was different, logic and science wasn't what he needed. Clare's appearance wasn't logical or planned, it was completely riddled with sentiment.

As Sherlock walked on, he found the rooms he was unwilling to open, but needed to none the less. This was the deepest level of his palace; no longer logical or simple. The corridors became ever more winding as he passed more and more locked doors and untouched feelings. All of his memories and suppressed emotions lay hidden away in the deepest parts of the palace, only to be used in dire situations. There was something that he was missing, something that was blocking him from finding out the answers. He turned into another hallway. _"This has something to do with Mycroft, of that I am sure. But what is it? What is he up to?"_ Sherlock turned again, facing a door. There was something about the door, some sort of foreboding feeling. It was definitely a memory, something that he had repressed for quite some time.

He studied the surface of the door, checking its label.

_Subject: A Mycroft Encounter_

_Information Level: Classified_

_Felling: Guilt_

"_But why did I lead myself here?"_ Sherlock was becoming frustrated. _"What does this have to do with anything?" _He began to turn away when, suddenly the hallway became a dead end; words appeared all over the walls of the corridor, May 9th was repeated over and over agian. He turned again, looking at the door. This was the answer, but there was something about this memory, there was a reason he had hidden it away.

He hesitated for a moment, only a moment before he opened the door. He had to know.

He found himself standing in 221B, watching himself and Mycroft. As he looked around, he suddenly remembered what had happened, what had been said, and why he had hidden this memory away. Taking a deep breath, Sherlock watched the scene unfold.

"I don't understand how this is of any concern of yours, Mycroft." Sherlock growled.

Mycroft rubbed his face in irritation. "I am worried about your connection to this John Watson fellow. Sentiment is a very dangerous thing, it slows your mind and causes you to make very stupid decisions. Something you're already prone to doing and I would not like to see it enforced." He stood and began to pace. "Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock. Stop getting too attached, otherwise it will lead you to your ruin." Mycroft sighed. " Put an end to this childish behavior and sever ties before it's too late."

"Honestly, Mycroft, your hypocrisy has risen to alarming rates." Sherlock stood, glaring at his older brother.

He continued. "I must ask you, for once in your pathetic life, to cease your melding." Sherlock ground out the words, his voice slowly becoming louder, anger relishing in each syllable. "Don't you dare lecture me on the merits of emotion when you still wear that ring on your finger. Did you pay attention during your wedding ceremony, brother dear? Do you remember the vows you said? 'Til death do us part, Mycroft. Well, death has happened and you have parted. So I suggest that you get ahold of your sentimental values before you lecture me on mine." Taking a deep breath, Sherlock dealt the final blow. "Anne is dead, Mycroft. So, just because you lost the one thing that made you human, doesn't mean that I deserve to lose mine." Sherlock looked up, glaring in to Mycroft's eyes.

"You're a coward, Mycroft. You're just a selfish coward."

Mycroft looked down, fiddling with the ring on his finger. He simply said, "Quite right, Sherlock; quite right."

The door to the memory shut, leaving Sherlock pondering in the hallway.

"_So Clare has something to do with Mycroft's sentiment, and Anne's death….But what?"_ He turned again when a small photo slid from under the door. Picking it up, carefully, Sherlock found the answer he had been looking for.

A photo of Anne holding a small baby girl, with the words _'Congratulations! You're an uncle!'_

Sherlock smiled, he should have seen it before. The detective shook his head and exited his mind palace, walking into the living room, off to deduce his niece now that he knew the full truth.

It was strange, looking at his nieces' sleeping form. She looked so much like her mother, with her doe eyes, blonde hair and sweet face. But there was that Holmesian air about her, a silent understanding of the world and how it worked. However, she saw the world through a different light compared to her uncle and father, one without science and equations but expressed with feeling; conducting a phylsiophical approach to the problems of life. Sherlock could see it in her, every word she spoke was carefully crafted, with a hidden meaning; even her thoughts seemed to be constructed like poetry. So, unlike her father or uncle, she would approach the world with understanding and compassion, along with wisdom beyond her years, something neither of the Holmes brothers could quite capture.

Sherlock smiled. Maybe there was a chance for his brother after all.

/

Delicious smells travelled from the kitchen; infecting the whole apartment, giving a whole new reason for the men of 221B to rise out of bed. Simultaneously, stretching and yawning, they left their rooms and padded their way towards the kitchen.

John smiled, warmly at the sight before him. Having Clare in the apartment, even though it was only for a short time, had given a new light to his and Sherlock's lives.

With a job like his, it was easy to forget just how good the world can be. Sometimes the Doctor would wonder how the world kept turning, how the world could sustain such a vile, heartless race of beings. After seeing so much death, so much cruelty and destruction, sometimes John would wonder; how much can the world take before all of this becomes too much to bear? How can the world go back after so much bad happened? Sometimes it was almost enough to give up the fight.

There were always those moments John's life, when he would forget about the good in the world, and lose his faith in humanity. But then a tiny random act of kindness would give him hope. He would remember that world always did seem to keep turning, and the light always managed to keep the dark at bay. And the Doctor would remember that there was good in the world, and it was worth fighting for.

For some reason, Clare gave him hope again.

"What's all this?" John said.

Clare handed the men their plates. "I wanted to properly thank you for letting me stay here."

Sherlock grunted, still groggy from his early rising. "Did you touch my experiments?"

John shot him a disapproving look. "Honestly, Sherlock…"

Clare held up her hand. "I was careful not to touch anything, Sherlock." She curled up in a chair, tea mug in hand. "Sorry I couldn't cook up something better, you didn't have much." She paused, sipping her tea. "Honestly, do you two live off of take out?"

Sherlock sniffed. "Yes, yes we do."

Rolling his eyes, John dug into his meal, realizing that he and Sherlock had probably forgotten what a home-cooked meal tasted like.

It tasted like heaven.

Clare tapped on her tea mug, eagerly awaiting their verdicts. "Well," She said. "What do you think?"

Sherlock shrugged. "Perfectly adequate."

John rolled his eyes. "What he meant to say was, It's amazing, Clare. Thank you."

"No I didn't." Sherlock replied in a confused tone.

John glared at him. "You better well have."

Just before things got too heated, Mrs. Hudson entered the room.

"Boys, there's men at the door. They say that they are here to collect Clare?" She turned, noticing the small blonde girl at the breakfast table. "Is that you, dear?" Mrs. Hudson smiled, warmly.

Clare nodded. "That's me."

"_Ah, that'll be Mycroft."_ Sherlock thought.

John was shocked. He'd forgotten all about Mycroft. Shaking his head, he offered to help Clare with her bags.

Clare thanked The Doctor and turned to face Sherlock. "I'm sure I'll be seeing both of you sometime soon." She sighed. "But I think that this is goodbye for now."

Handing John the last of Clare's bags, Sherlock turned toward Clare and stuck out his hand, meeting her eyes he smiled, comfortable with the revelation that she was his niece. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Clare O'Conner."

Taking his hand, Clare shook it and smiled, replying. "Dido."

John and Sherlock led Clare to the car, setting down her luggage and allowing the driver to pack it away in the back of the limo.

"If you ever need anything don't hesitate to call me or Sherlock." John said, handing the girl their numbers.

"Thank you, John." Clare said, shaking The Doctors' hand. "It's been fun."

With one last smile and a little wave, Clare hopped into the car, riding away to meet her father.

John looked to Sherlock. "Have you figured it out? Who is she? What's she doing here?" He asked, desperate for an answer.

"Clare is my long lost niece, or so it would seem from my deductions. She has come to England to be reunited with Mycroft." Sherlock smiled at his dumbfounded friend.

"Wait...I don-"

Sherlock cut him off. "I'll explain the details in good time."

John shook his head, asking the one question he deemed to be important. "Do you think he'll take care of her?"

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. "Oh no. I think she'll take care of him."

Looking at his phone The Consulting Detective typed a message.

_Be brave, Mycroft. _

_SH_

**-Thanks to sarahunags2 for following! And thanks to Guest for reviewing :D. It really does mean a lot to me! Thanks for reading and have a nice day!-**


	5. What am I doing? What have I done?

"_What am I doing?" _

That very question has settled in the minds of many. That little nagging, doubt always seems to surface; no matter what the situation.

The fear of failure seems so close in those moments. You can feel it all around you; like you're drowning in the sea of things to come.

But then you lay your head back. You stare into the sky. And you realize that there's no stopping it now, and you're wasting your time.

So you choose to breathe deeply, and walk slowly; prepared to take the plunge.

One step.

Two step.

Three step.

Four.

All the while you breathe, and you look back, and you fear. But you keep moving.

One step.

Two step.

Three step.

Four.

Closer and closer you come, until you're almost there.

One step.

Two step.

Three step.

Four.

There's no turning back now.

"Mr. Holmes?" A quite voice came from behind him.

Mycroft held his breath, and turned in his chair.

"_Good, God. She looks like her mother." _He blinked, trying to think of something to say.

Clare grabbed her arm, nervously tittering on her feet. She looked up, her eyes rising to meet her fathers and in that moment, all she needed was to know that she was welcome.

Suddenly, Mycroft stood.

Slowly, he walked; counting his steps. All of his reason had abandoned his body and a strange feeling took over him. He needed to comfort her, shelter her. She was….His _daughter_.

He stood in front of the girl, staring into her eyes. Those helpless, sad eyes that begged him to be the father she needed.

His hand reached out, and for one moment he could have touched her, he could have held her in his arms.

Mycroft blinked, and pulled his hand back.

The moment had passed.

With a tight smile he said, "Please, call me Mycroft."

_"What have I done?"_ He thought.

Clare looked down, hurt and confusion passing over her face. With a small smile she replied, "Hello, Mycroft."

/

They ate in silence that night, each deep within their own thoughts. Clare didn't seem to mind the lack of conversation, Mycroft noted.

Clare was like him in many ways. A quiet, thinking person, content to keep to herself. But all of that made it damn near impossible for either of them to start a conversation.

Not to mention that talking about themselves seemed completely alien to both of them.

Mycroft sighed; he would have to sort all of it out in the morning. But right now, they both seemed to need some time to think.

After their quiet meal, Mycroft finally spoke up. "I think this has been a rather trying day for the both of us. Maybe we could do with some rest." He raised his eye-brows in question.

Clare nodded.

"I trust you have been told where your room is? "

Another nod.

He cleared his throat. "Good…Well, goodnight." He briskly walked away, barely hearing her quiet reply.

/

Mycroft rolled to the end of his bed, turning on his light. He couldn't sleep. Though every cell in his body ached for some rest, his mind was running full speed.

Sighing, he made his way the only place that could calm him in a moment of distress.

His library.

Books had always been a form of comfort, allowing him to escape from his troubles and enter another world.

Entering the room he noticed the light to his beloved library was already glowing a pleasant glow and sat in his favorite chair was a small blonde girl, curled up and completely immersed in a book.

A small smile graced his face.

Clare turned to see him and smiled as well. "Couldn't sleep?" She asked.

Mycroft shook his head, sighing. "It was quite an impossible feat, I must say." Instinctively, he scrolled the book shelf for his favorite novel, only to find it carefully grasped in Clare's hands.

Raising his eye-brows he sat down in the adjacent chair. "You are a fan of Tolkien?"

She nodded, stroking the book, lovingly. "He's my favorite."

Mycroft shifted in his chair. "Well, I must say your choice in literature is impeccable." He smiled a genuine and soft smile, noting the unfamiliar affect it had on him. "He happens to be my favorite as well."

Clare chuckled, surprised. "Really? No shit?"

Mycroft shook his head, a bit surprised at her language. However, he duly replied, "No shit."

Clare laughed, lightening the mood little by little. "Then I must say your choice in literature is rather impeccable as well." She said, slightly mocking Mycroft's rather posh accent.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. Sherlock's mocking sarcasm had seemingly rubbed off on her. Silence fell and Mycroft looked at the book again. The title was elegantly inscribed across its leather binding, the pages slightly fraying, it was almost magical.

The Ice Man smiled. Those stories had gotten him through the worst of times, and they had seemed to do the same for Clare. You could learn all you needed to know about a person simply by the literature they read. _"Ah, a perfect conversation topic."_ He thought.

"Why, if I may ask, is he your favorite?"

Clare looked down, considering the question with deep thought. Her brows furrowed, and she began to answer. "I find all of the ideas in his stories appealing. Not just the adventure and mystical aspects, but the continuing theme of connection between the characters." She paused, holding the book tightly to her chest and continued to answer as if in some sort of trance. "I love the idea that no matter how hard things got, no matter what happened, no one ever got abandoned. There was this sense of loyalty, and love." She paused, taking a shaky breath. "I guess it's the knowledge that they would always find each other and that no one would ever get left behind. I think I was lacking in that sense of security, and it was comforting to know that Tolkien believed in it, and that he thought it was possible for people to love each other as much as his characters did…It gave me hope in the possibility that someone could, maybe, love me that much."

Mycroft was silent, shocked by her answer. He cleared his throat. "Well, those are all perfectly admirable reasons." His words were cold, even though he didn't mean to be. He wasn't angry with Clare…But he feared that she was with him. Of course, she had every right to be. He did, after all abandon her, and leave her in the care of her dying grandmother. She had every right to be furious with him. However, it did hurt to know that was a possibility.

Suddenly, cold fingers gently grasped his hand and a pair of deep blue eyes, bored into his.

"I didn't mean…I mean I never…Damn it." Clare shook her head, took a deep breath, and continued. "I never resented your choice…I've always understood why you did what you did…and I want…I _need_ you to know that I'm not…I, I never was angry with you…I just…I understand, and it's okay."

Shocked, yet again, Mycroft silently squeezed Clare's hand, in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"Thank you." He whispered. Clearing his throat, Mycroft picked up the book from the side of Clare's chair and began to read.

"In a hole in the ground, there lived a hobbit." He began. "Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole, filled with the ends of worms and an oozy smell, nor yet a dry bare, sandy hole with nothing in it to sit down on or to eat: It was a hobbit-hole, and that means comfort."

And on The Ice Man read, in what he hoped was a soothing, fatherly fashion. He read on and on, until he noticed his daughter sleeping soundly, in the chair next to his. He felt a strange pang of loss and guilt as he realized he had lost those precious moments in her early childhood, where he could have read to her, in this same soothing fatherly fashion. And for a moment, as he looked down upon his sleeping daughter, The Ice Man mourned for the loss of those precious moments, those things that could have been but never were. For, those times had passed and Clare was no longer a child, he had missed that part of her life, and it left a gaping hole in the both of them.

Quietly he stood, careful not to wake the sleeping girl. Just as he was going to leave, he tentatively reached out a hand and brushed a lock of hair from the girl's face. In that moment, she was a child in his eyes, she was his child. An overwhelming feeling hit him, a mixture of happiness and hurt, of losses and gains, hopes for the future and wishes to fix the now distant past. Sharp want for all things; things he could have done, should have done, and things he had yet to do.

Taking a blanket, he covered the sleeping girl.

He would never leave her again.

_If ever I do hurt you_

_Make your willows bend_

_If ever I deceive you_

_Darlin, do not hang your head_

_If ever I betray you_

_Cast shadows on your light_

_I pray that you may pardon_

_And forgive me by and by…_

_In our greatest triumphs_

_We cannot shake the fear_

_That the ones we once treasured_

_May at any given second disappear_

_My dear, may you never disappear…_

_So I know I don't deserve you_

_But if I ever do forget_

_May you help my heart remember_

_And bring me home again_

**-Many thanks to Samantha, erichard, and luvdove -10 for reviewing. Thanks also to, AllThatIWant, HPfanficfan2, Lawrian, Lrsh2013, WyllowSky, allisigmon, erichard, and luvdove -10, for either following or favoriting this story. It really does mean a lot to me! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, please review and have a nice day :D.-**

**P.S: The lyrics at the end are snippets from the song, **_**Do Not Hang Your Head, **_**by Elizabeth and the Catapult. It is really such a beautiful song and I strongly encourage you to listen to it! Besides, I feel it goes with this story quite well :D. Anyways, TTFN!-**


	6. IOU

_There is always a clam before the storm. _

For the first time in eleven years, Mycroft Holmes was late for work.

The argument had lasted from seven in the morning until this exact moment, the topics varying from proper nutrition to acceptable and unacceptable attire, finally leading them to the current argument on whether or not Clare was allowed to be out on her own for the day. Needless to say the whole ordeal left The British Government thirty minutes late for work and more than a little irritated. Also, the fact that his daughter seemed to find this whole situation extremely amusing didn't help boost the Politian's foul mood.

"No. You are staying in this house until I arrive home from work and that is final." Mycroft stamped his umbrella on the ground, attempting to convey the finality of his statement. However, he feared he looked rather more like a petulant child than an authority figure. And from the smirk on his sixteen year old daughter's face, his suspicions seemed correct.

Clare shook her head, picking up her purse from the kitchen table. "There is no way I am sitting around on my ass all day, waiting for you to come home. I'm not a dog, Mycroft. I can take care of myself. I'm not staying here cooped up in this stuffy house all day. Now _that_ is final." Quickly, she walked over to the door, holding it open for him. "Well, come on then!" She laughed. "You're already late for work!"

Mycroft sputtered, his mouth gaping. "Y-Young lady! I will not be talked to in that manor!" Though, as he protested he grabbed his briefcase and continued to follow his daughter out the door. She really was too much like her mother already.

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his driver's decision to take a nap. However, his displeasure with the man subsided quickly. The British Government was, after all, thirty minutes late.

Tapping on the driver's window of the limousine, Mycroft signaled that he was ready for his departure.

Turning around, he noticed Clare had already started walking down the street, apparently ready to go on her day's adventures. "Oh, no you don't." Mycroft said as he climbed into the back seat of his limousine.

Instructing the driver to pull up next to the girl, Mycroft rolled down his window.

"Honestly, Clare. At least let me drive you to your destination." Smirking, he opened his door and motioned for Clare to get inside. "In." He said.

Clare rolled her eyes, and pinched the bridge of her nose, reminding the Politian strongly of John Watson. "Fine, fine. You can drop me off at that coffee shop but I am not coming to work with you."

Mycroft chuckled, as he scooted over, making room for his daughter. "Understood." He said. Even though he knew he would do no such thing.

Once the car was again in motion, Mycroft took in his daughter's attire. Black pencil-skirt, a fitted graphic tee-shirt, complete with red converse shoes. Mycroft groaned, knowing full well that they had already breeched this topic earlier that morning. "Must you wear such fitted clothes?"

Clare chuckled, blowing her blonde bangs out of her face. "Yes." Mycroft opened his mouth to comment again but Clare cut him off. "The makeup is necessary as well, I'm afraid." Smiling, she pulled out her wallet and began to count her money.

Mycroft's brow's furrowed in confusion. "Where did you obtain all of that money?" He asked, his tone condescending.

Clare rolled her eyes, glaring ever so slightly. "I didn't steal it, if that's what you mean." The Politian was shocked. For the first time, Clare sounded hostile. However, the moment quickly passed and Clare continued to answer the question. "I've had jobs since I was thirteen; it's just money I've saved since then."

"What on earth would you need a job for at thirteen?" He asked, his tone yet again condescending.

Clare looked confused, as if that was the stupidest question in the world. "To get money for, clothes, school stuff, phone bills. Duh."

Mycroft gazed at her, just as equally confused. "That was your Grandmother's job. Was it not?"

Clare chuckled, a mirthless dark laugh that didn't sit well on her usually happy face and dimmed her bright blue eyes. And in that moment Mycroft realized, she looked like him.

"You obviously never met my Grandmother." That look stayed on her face for a moment, the look of someone who had to grow up too quickly. Mycroft knew that look well, for he saw it in his own eyes every day. Clare continued, "As I've said before. I can take care of myself."

Before Mycroft could say anything more, they appeared in front of the building containing 221B.

Clare groaned. "Oh, come on! Really? I thought you were being reasonable!"

Mycroft nodded and nudged the teenager out of the car with his umbrella. "Go on, I'm late as it is."

/

John Watson was enjoying a peaceful morning, sipping his cup of tea, reading the newspaper, listening to the early morning summer breeze. There had been a strange lack of cases the past week and Sherlock had been oddly docile and quiet the whole morning. So, The Good Doctor was taking advantage of the Detective's abnormal behavior and the current lack of danger.

Yes, everything was peaceful.

"God, you're such a control freak!" An irritated voice rang up the stairs.

Never mind.

"Get up those stairs, young lady! That is an order!"

John heard Mycroft's agitated voice; it seemed to be one of those rare moments the Politian had lost his cool. _"Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant."_ John thought.

John dropped his newspaper as he heard stomping footsteps approach 221B. Both him and Sherlock shared equally confused glances.

The door swung open, revealing two very unhappy people.

Mycroft nodded to the two men, stiffly. "John, Sherlock. I do hope it's not too much trouble, however I need someone to watch over Clare for the day and, seeing as I don't trust many people, you two seemed to be the only options. I do hope you are not busy."

John raised his eye-brows. Really? Mycroft wanted him and Sherlock to baby sit…A sixteen year old.

The Good Doctor looked over to the girl. Jaw clenched, lips pursed, posture impeccably straight. Yep. Mycroft had ensured the wrath of a teenage girl.

This will only end in blood shed.

John cleared his throat. "Yes...Sure. Fine."

Mycroft smiled, it looked more like a scowl but for Mycroft it was a start. The Politian turned toward his daughter. "Be good for Sherlock and John?" His tone was condescending, something someone would use on a toddler.

John cringed. That was a mistake.

Looking up at The British Government, the small girl glared and replied. "Bite me, chubby." With one flip of her hair, Clare left Mycroft's side and sat on the couch next to her newly found uncle. Who, much to John's surprise, chuckled and patted his niece on the back.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows at his brother. "Well, off you go, Brother Dear. You mustn't keep the country waiting any longer."

With one last annoyed huff, The British Government left 221B, slamming the door behind him.

John couldn't contain his laughter any longer. "Jesus Christ." He sighed in between giggles.

Soon enough both Clare and Sherlock joined in with John and his giggling.

Sherlock smiled at Clare. "Although I would have chosen a more intellectual approach in annoying my brother, your methods seem to work splendidly. Well, done niece. Well done."

Clare sighed, relaxing into the sofa. "Honestly, he nagged me the whole morning. At first he was mad because I said I wasn't hungry, and then he was mad because I told him I was vegetarian. So he continued to lecture me on the value of proper nutrition for a good forty five minutes until he got tired of that topic and started nagging me about my clothes and makeup. Then he said I couldn't leave the house all day. Finally, I just walked out and he made me get in the car so he could dump me on you two."

Sherlock huffed, and rolled his eyes. "Typical Mycroft, insufferable as always. He did the same things to me when I was young."

Clare sighed. "I just don't think I can handle this…He probably hates me now."

John moved over to the sofa, wrapping a comforting arm around the confused girl.

"Mycroft's a very conflicted person. You never know what to expect. In some situations he worries too much and in others he worries too little...He seems to be a man with many feelings and limited ways to show them, just like your uncle." He cast a pointed look at Sherlock. "But I'm sure you will learn to live with him, just as I have learned to live with Sherlock. And, in the end, I believe you will be good for him. Give him time, you might be just what he needs." The Good Doctor smiled down on the young girl.

For one moment, there was hope, a tiny flicker of hope in Clare's eyes. The girl smiled a real happy smile and hugged John Watson.

"Thanks, John." She whispered.

Suddenly, John knew what it felt like to be a parent. That feeling of love and devotion and trust washed over him. He had only known the girl a day and he already thought of her as his own. More than that, the girl trusted him. However, John couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness as he realized Clare trusted him more than she did her own father. Silently he hoped that it wasn't too late to mend their broken relationship.

/

Mycroft's mood had not improved with time. The British Government had spent the whole day agonizing over the events of that morning. Was he in the wrong? No it was all Clare. But he was being rather controlling. No, no! She just was being stubborn. Or maybe he just wasn't listening.

"Damn." He muttered to himself.

Sighing, Mycroft prepared himself to face his daughter as the limousine pulled up to 221B Baker Street. Hopefully she was dealing with the situation better than he.

Laughter sounded through the door of 221B. Mycroft frowned. _"Well, at least someone's having a good time."_ He thought, sourly.

Pushing the door open, Mycroft made his presence known to the happy company that was currently gathered around what appeared to be some sort of card game.

The British Government cleared his throat; Sherlock was the first to notice.

"Ah, it seems my dear brother has come to collect our Clare, John."

Mycroft smiled sarcastically at his younger brother. "A wonderful deduction, Sherlock. Are you ready to go, Clare?"

Much to Mycroft's surprise, Clare smiled and got up immediately beginning to collect her things.

As Clare pranced about the room, Mycroft turned to John. "I do hope that this wasn't too much trouble for you."

John smiled and shook his head. "No, no. We're happy to have her. She's always welcome here." Sherlock nodded in agreement.

Once Clare had successfully gathered her belongings she turned to The Doctor and The Consulting Detective. "Thanks so much for having me, again."

John smiled. "You're very welcome, Clare."

A small smile crept on Sherlock's face. "Until next time, niece."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "Well, we must be off. Come along, Clare."

Without any more goodbyes The Ice Man and his daughter began their journey home. Both piled into the back of the limo in equally heavy silences. Ten minutes passed before Clare made the first effort.

"I'm sorry I called you chubby. That was…Mean." She fidgeted awkwardly.

Mycroft cleared his throat. "It's quite alright…I was, after all, antagonizing you all morning."

A brief nod from his daughter and more silence.

It was Mycroft who spoke this time. "What I mean to say is…I am..._Sorry _as well." Good God it had been years since he had apologized for anything.

Clare nodded again, whispering a quiet 'Thank you.'

More silence followed as they pulled into the drive way. Mycroft turned to Clare. "I think we need to talk."

Clare nodded and followed The Ice Man into the house.

It was Mycroft who began this time. "I know that we have many things to work on…And I know that I have missed much of your life. But I do not want…I just can't…" He paused, desperately trying to keep himself composed. "I just can't bear to be a stranger to you any longer…I want to know you, Clare. So…Tell me…Tell me everything."

Clare cleared her throat. "My…My Grandmother never wanted me. She made that clear to me every day, every hour, and every second that I existed." She paused, staring into Mycroft's eyes. "Once I was old enough to start school she refused to pay for anything. My Uncle, Mark, and his wife Nana paid my way until he was deported to Iraq when I was thirteen." She paused, thinking hard. "I worked odd jobs here and there, earning just enough to buy my own clothes and school things. But then Grandmother got sick so I had to take care of her too." Taking a shaky breath, Clare continued. "I dedicated my whole life to that vile woman…And every day no matter what I did, she reminded me that I was somehow, some way unworthy. Every day since I learned how to speak she would tell me, 'You're nothing special. That's why your father dumped you on me. He was a smart man, a good man. And he knew that you weren't worth his time.' And I believed her." Tears streamed down Clare's face. "But I never understood why…Why didn't you want me?" She sobbed. "What was wrong with me?"

Without thinking, Mycroft ran to his daughter's side, taking her into his arms. "It's not you." He said, his own voice shaking. "It was never you…It was me…I was selfish and afraid…" He held her to him, letting her tears soak through his jacket. "I was wrong…I was so wrong..."

The pair stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, making up for lost time, drowning old pains and sorrows. They were one step closer to being a family. And in the back of Mycroft's mind he knew his Annie would be proud.

Looking into his daughter's face, Mycroft brushed a hand though her hair and wiped the tears off her cheeks. "You are so much like your mother."

Clare hugged her father tightly, hoping that was enough.

Mycroft smiled, letting his own tears fall. He took a deep breath. "Come on…It's getting late, time to get you to bed."

Clare nodded and let her father lead the way.

/

Mycroft made his way to the library, drained both physically and emotionally from the trials of the day.

Again, he looked for his favorite book, only to find it sitting in the middle of the room, the words I.O.U burned into its elegant bindings.

The time of peace was over and the war had yet to come.

**-And so the drama begins! Thanks so much to SpencerRiedFan89 for reviewing, it means so much to me! Also thanks to Salena Knight, Satine Gold, SpenceReidFan89, hannabannanananana, and for either favoriting or following this story! I would love to know how I'm doing so please leave me a review! As always, thanks for reading and have a great day : )-**


	7. A Change in Priorities (Part 1)

_**It's a scary feeling, taking the back seat. But the love for the one in the front makes it all worth wile.**_

Sherlock stared at the plastic bag resting on the counter. His mind was reeling, his eyes taking in every detail, studying the essence of the bag. The red cargo was clearly visible through the plastic; the round shape and small size, clearly identifying the object.

An apple, a bright red apple.

A shiver ran through him.

Tentatively, the Consulting Detective reached for the bag. His hands shook, his pulse quickened, and the Consulting Detective chuckled, sneering at himself. He was frightened, that was obvious. Clearly, this bag was a threat, an invitation. Mr. Holmes, come and play, the bag taunted him, over and over. But Sherlock just stood, his hand grasping thin air. He was afraid. But for who? Who was he afraid for? His own life had always been his top priority after all; he was the most important person. Sherlock was always Sherlock's top priority.

He reached for the bag, aware of his fear, aware of the invitation, and aware that his priorities had changed.

Taking a deep breath, Sherlock grabbed the bag; joining in the game.

I.O.U.

The letters had been carefully carved into the apple, just as they had been the last time. Only there was something more. There was something wrong. This wasn't just about Sherlock anymore. No.

"_John_." The Consulting Detective didn't so much as hear the name slip out of his lips, as feel it. All of the things about John, his voice, his smell, his eyes, his smile, everything. Sherlock felt all of those things and felt his stomach sink as he realized that in joining the game, there was a possibility that he could lose them.

Not once had Sherlock given a second thought to joining a chase. But this time he did…He thought long and hard. He thought back to the times when John hadn't been in his life, back to the lonely days before John and the even lonelier days after he took his fall and lived in exile. Sherlock thought about all of the times he had put The Good Doctor in danger. All of the times he was so close to losing his blogger. Every memory stung him. And for once, Sherlock was not excited about a chase, he was worried, he was afraid, and he was selfless. And it hit Sherlock, as he stared at that challenging apple. John was his top priority now.

Again, he looked down at the bleeding red invitation.

I.O.U.

Sherlock tightened his grip on the apple, feeling its skin mash together under his fingers. In a way, Sherlock felt just like that apple…Like two parts of him were clashing together, forcefully merging into one another.

On one side, he was scared for John. For he knew that this challenge was dangerous and that his dear Doctor would be a main target in all circumstances. And, ultimately, he knew that he couldn't live without John. On the other, he felt a sudden giddiness, excitement boiled in the pit of his stomach at the sight of this new challenge. All he had wanted his whole life; the chance to show how much of a genius Sherlock could be. The danger was a part of him, the cases, the crimes everything was a part of him. He couldn't just give that up. He couldn't lose himself. But he couldn't lose John either.

Two very different sides of Sherlock, being crushed together by an unfortunate circumstance. Both too different to exist in harmony. For once, The Consulting Detective had no answer.

Sherlock shook his head, slamming the apple on the counter.

This was all too much.

He felt a warm hand grip his shoulder.

"Sherlock?" John's voice was soft, and laced with concern.

Sherlock didn't turn around, he couldn't turn around. All of his emotions were conflicting, all of them contradicting each other. Fear, excitement, hate, love, worry, selfishness, selflessness, sadness, happiness, and ultimately, confusion.

Sherlock nudged the apple towards John. "They're back, John. They've come to play." He felt the Doctor's grip tighten.

"I thought...I thought you had taken care of it." John cleared his throat as memories of Sherlock's absence after his fall flashed before him. All of his pain, and loneliness. Had it been for nothing? "You and Mycroft, your plan…That was the whole point of you being dead, the whole point of your fall…Please…Don't tell me that was all for nothing."

Sherlock turned around, looking into John's eyes. "No, John…It was for you."

John sighed, mindlessly rubbing Sherlock's shoulder, his thumb occasionally grazing The Detective's neck. "Tell me what you're feeling."

"I'm frightened, John…I don't want anything to happen."

John shook his head. "I won't let anything a happen to you."

"I'm not worried about me!" Sherlock was shouting, all of his emotions usually so well kept at bay, flooded out. "I'm worried about you! I'm always worried about you! All I can think about is you! And I can't lose you…But I can't give up the challenge…I hate that they're back but I love that they're back! I'm excited and frightened! And I don't know what to do or how to feel! I just…" He paused, the desperation ever growing in his voice. "I just don't know."

"You don't need to worry about me, Sherlock." John reassured. "I will be fine. Nothing's going to happen to me."

Sherlock placed a hand on John's. "Can you promise me that?"

John looked down. "No." He said, after a long silence. "But I can promise you that…You'd be okay…You'd move on and you'd be okay."

Sherlock found the Doctor's eyes again. "Would I really, John? Would I really move on?"

John nodded. "I did." He replied.

For a long moment, the pair just stayed like that, gazing at each other. Unsure of their future, and unsure of their feelings. But both well aware that Sherlock would be anything but okay, should John fall.

But the game had started and it was time to play.

A web was being spun, linking the Holmes brothers together. Ultimately, they would have to choose between selfishness and selflessness. To lose themselves or to lose those they hold most dear.

Either way, something will fall.

Let the games begin.

**-Thanks to SpencerRiedFan89 and luv dov-10 for reviewing! It means so much to me; I love hearing what you guys think! Also thanks to mangadragon10122, The truth never set me free, and Wombat8 for either following or favoriting! Just to let you know, this chapter is split into two parts, this was the first half being Sherlock's reaction to the apparent return "Moriarty" and the second part will be Mycroft's reaction to the return of "Moriarty". As always, I would LOVE to know how I'm doing so, please leave a review : ). Thanks so much and have a nice day!-**


	8. A Change in Priorities (Part 2)

**There can be no light without a dark. I myself prefer to strive within the light.**

**-Horace Slughorn (Harry Potter)**

Mycroft let the cold wash over him as he ran his fingers over the burnt text in his hands. He let the ice cool his blood, stopping the pain if only for a moment. For now he would choose not to feel, just for one moment, just one moment. "_Please_." He whispered to the unforgiving air, begging for the comfort of the icy cold.

His fingers traced over the markings, memorizing every curve, every inch of that message.

I.O.U

It was strange, the book once being a symbol of a new beginning for The Ice Man and his daughter now lay, marred and misshapen by one, ugly message.

I.O.U

Feelings were so foreign to Mycroft. So unwelcomed, and so feared. It was always easy to let the ice take control, to let the barrier thicken. But nothing was easy now, not with Clare. The girl had woven into Mycroft's life, designing an intricate pattern, spun from the loss and confusion of her past. This was a girl who thought she wasn't special, but had the ability to hope that one day she might be. No matter what she had been told, she never gave up on him. Amongst the strings of sorrow and pain, Clare wove a pattern of hope and beauty. The contrasting colors of loss and gain, of loathing and loving, of feeling and ice, all merging together, and building a new future. A beautiful, chaotic, future.

No matter how hard Mycroft tried to convince himself. He could not deny that the beautiful, chaotic, future was so much better than his icy cold. Because Clare was special and the light she had brought with her had shone on Mycroft's heart, leading the way out of his icy darkness. And he knew, now more than ever, that there would never be a light quite like that again and should he lose it, nothing could ever bring him out.

But now that burning message of I.O.U blocked that path to that beautiful future, and his icy cold was once again the more appealing option.

That I.O.U blocked the path to the hopeful light, leaving Mycroft to ponder the darkness once again. A choice had to be made. Would he still pursue the light, that happy future? Or continue to reside in the safe darkness of his icy cold?

The light, with all of its lovely chaos, hope and love was only temporary. For all things give way to dark in the end. And with the burning I.O.U, the dark seemed more imminent than ever. However, when Mycroft thought about the smiling face of his darling girl, the light seemed worth it. For if one could have one shining moment amidst an eternity of darkness, it does seem worth it.

"Should I dare to care?" Mycroft thought. Was it worth it?

A tiny voice inside him said yes, but he was frightened.

There was no way to protect Clare now. She was a target, and would remain one where ever she should go.

But The Ice Man could protect himself, he could chose that darkness and save himself the pain of losing the light. For you cannot miss what you never had.

But his wanting for the light was strong, and it seemed to be so worth the risk.

Unconsciously, The Ice Man walked down the hallway, leading to his daughter's room. The door creaked open, letting the light fall upon her sleeping face. Her hopeful features relaxing into an easy sleep. Filled with pleasant dreams, and unaware of troubling times.

Mycroft stood amidst the comforting darkness, the beautiful light, and the burning I.O.U.

A decision must be made…

The phone rang, and Mycroft listened to the panicked voice on the other end.

"Sir, something's wrong. You'd better get down here."

And so it all began, putting Mycroft's decision on hold.

But the question still stood; what should he walk into?

The darkness or the hopeful light?

Or the burning I.O.U?

**-Thank you so much to stinkysox, luv dove -10, Animalfeelings, and Guest, for reviewing! It means ever so much, and makes me SOOOOO happy! I think last chapter was the most reviewed so, yay! Also, thanks to stinkysox, WherewolfOfTheNight, MariiaKaroliina, AnimePrincessRach, RedPenWriter13, and Blackspade003 for either following or favoriting! As always, if you have any feedback or suggestions for the story, please let me know! Thank you so much for reading and have a wonderful day! (Happy 4****th**** of July if you're American like me! XD)**

**P.s: To luv dove -10, I can't tell you that! But I can tell you that it really all depends on how much faith you have in Mycroft, the same goes for Sherlock. Will they do the right thing and or will they slip into their old ways? : ) You decide!-**


	9. Ain't no Rest for the Wicked

_**We've all got both light and dark inside of us. What matters is the part we choose to act on. That's who we really are.**_

_**-Sirius Black (Harry Potter)**_

**Did you get your I.O.U? **

**-SH**

Mycroft read the message carefully, as he took a deep breath and ran a hand over his tired eyes. He had been hoping that Sherlock would remain exempt from this whole situation a little while longer. He knew that Sherlock would, of course, be involved. But he had hoped that something would go right today. It was a fool's hope of course, but it was all he had.

**Yes, I have received their message. I trust I will see you at the scene of the crime?**

**-MH**

He sent the message quickly, silently wishing that Sherlock would choose to butt out of this particular excursion.

**Yes. I am on my way. **

**-SH**

Ah, a fool's hope, yet again.

Before The Politian could reply, his phone buzzed.

**What of Clare?**

**-SH**

Mycroft looked over his daughter's sleeping form and quickly composed his message.

**She will be accompanying me. It would be wise for you to bring John as well. Though, do try to keep him out of it. We wouldn't want to repeat last time. Make sure that Mrs. Hudson is being looked after. Notify DI Lestrade about the messages and instruct him to remain vigilant. **

**-MH**

Another quick reply came from his brother.

**Are they in danger?**

**-SH**

Mycroft smiled, bitterly. Sherlock obviously knew the answer, but it was his turn to hope a fool's hope.

**We all are.**

**-MH**

The brothers ended their conversation; there was no more to be said.

Turning toward Clare, Mycroft gently shook her awake.

"Clare." He said, sternly.

"Whut?" Came her sleepy reply, as she burrowed deeper into her covers.

Mycroft pulled the blankets off of her. "Pack a bag. Take only what you need. Hurry up, and meet me down stairs."

Clare groaned, her hands covering her eyes. "Why?"

Mycroft shook his head. That was a discussion for another time. "Now, Clare."

He turned out of her room, hoping that she would obey him.

/

Ten minutes later, Clare came tromping down the stairs, a tote bag in hand and a tooth-brush sticking out of her mouth.

Mycroft resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Even in a crisis, the girl had continued on with her morning beauty routine.

Clare smiled, brushing her teeth fiercely as the tooth paste coated her mouth, giving an uncanny resemblance to a rabid squirrel. She winked as she turned to spit into the kitchen sink.

Mycroft wrinkled his nose, and opened his mouth to comment, but was quickly interrupted.

"Before you say anything, yes I did have to do that. It's payback for waking me up at four in the morning." She grinned, obviously proud of Mycroft's disgusted reaction.

At that, Mycroft did roll his eyes, secretly thankful that his daughter was in good humor, and oblivious to the eminent danger.

"Right, time to go." Picking up his brief case, he led the way to the limousine parked outside.

The panicked call had come from one of the power grid's facilities. This particular establishment controlled the power distribution to southern side of London. What exactly was causing the panic, he did not know, but he had an idea; an unpleasant idea, but an idea none the less.

Clare's soft voice brought him out of his reverie. "So, someone owes you?" She said, pushing the maimed book onto The Ice Man's lap.

Mycroft sighed. "What are you doing with that?"

"You seemed upset, so I thought I'd bring it along. I thought I'd use it like a security blanket, to help you calm down." She shrugged and continued. "But I guess this is the reason why you're upset."

Mycroft grunted. "Indeed." He pushed the book to the floor, out of sight and out of mind.

Clare raised her eye brows. "So, you are upset."

Mycroft scowled, growling out an answer. "Stop talking."

The daughter fell silent, raising her hands in surrender.

After a moment, Clare began to shift in her seat, tapping her hands in a paradiddle form.

"Stop that." Mycroft snapped.

Clare stopped, her pattern incomplete, her hands shook for a moment before she quickly completed the beat.

Mycroft rolled his eyes; the girl couldn't cope with an unfinished anything.

There was more silence as both of the Holmes' looked out their windows, watching the buildings fly by.

Clare spoke again. "Why are you being threatened?"

Mycroft groaned, feeling his temper rise. "This is none of your concern, Clare."

"It obviously is, otherwise you wouldn't have brought me along."

Before he could do anything to stop himself, Mycroft's voice had risen to a shout. "Shut up. Just SHUT UP!"

A hurt look passed over Clare's face before her jaw tightened and her eyes hardened. She spoke once more, her voice quiet, deadly. "If you wanted to treat me like a child, you should have stuck around when I actually was one."

Before Mycroft could comment, the driver announced their arrival.

Clare jumped out of the car, slamming the door behind her, walking into the building.

"Well done, brother dear."

Mycroft turned his head, his gaze meeting his brother's. Before he could comment, The Good Doctor walked into the picture.

Sherlock stiffened. "John, I really think you should stay out of this."

The Doctor shook his head. "I want to help, and I don't need protection, Sherlock."

"Yes, you do." Was The Detective's reply.

John scowled. "I am not a child, Sherlock. I fought in a war..."

"A war in which you were shot." The Detective interrupted.

John's jaw stiffened, and his eyes darkened. "I am helping and that is final." The Doctor shoved past the two brothers, in the same direction as Clare.

Mycroft grabbed his brief case. "Well done, brother dear." He smirked, gesturing his hand toward the facility. "Shall we?"

Sherlock grunted and huffed past his brother, into the building.

/

Chaos was the only word that described the inside of the Southside Power Facility.

Pushing through the crowd of scrambling workers, Mycroft, Sherlock, John, and Clare made their way to the main control room, hoping to find out the main problem.

Before they reached the doors, Mycroft and Sherlock turned towards their companions.

"Wait here." They both said, before slamming the door in both of the blonde's faces.

The brothers shared a look, knowing that they would pay dearly for their behavior later.

A tall woman approached them. Unlike her fellow colleagues, she was seemingly composed as she introduced herself to the Holmes brothers.

"Kathy Gates." She shook Mycroft's hand, and only looked slightly offended when Sherlock refused to do the same. She cleared her throat and continued. "Well, let's get started." Sticking her hand out, she lead the way to what Mycroft guessed would be a less panicky room.

Naturally, he was right.

The two brothers were sat down at a round table in what seemed to be a conference room.

Kathy cleared her throat, yet again. A nervous habit, Mycroft supposed. "We have lost all power in the Southside of London."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows; this was what he had feared.

Kathy continued. "We don't know what caused it but four O'clock this morning, the whole Southside was down, completely knocked off the grid." She shook her head, exasperated. "We've done our best, but someone has hacked into our systems, and we've slowly been losing power as well, we're currently running on reserve only." She paused, taking a deep breath. "The hospitals were the first to go, I they have been without power for, approximately, five hours. It seems that the buildings with the most need for power were the first to go. Then the residential areas. Until the whole Southside of London was down and all of our systems started to fail."

Sherlock and Mycroft nodded, trying to piece together what was happening. "If this was Moriarty, they would have given some sort of clue. Something to get the ball rolling." Said Sherlock, his hands under his chin.

As if on cue, the whole building went dark.

"There goes the reserve." He heard Kathy say, quietly.

Suddenly, the main screen of the conference room lit up, and music blasted from the overhead system.

**48 HOURS UNTILL TOTAL BLACK OUT.** The screen read.

_Oh there ain't no rest for the wicked. _

_Money don't gown on trees._

_I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed and ain't nothin' in this world for free._

_Oh, no I can't slow down_

_I can't hold back _

_Though you know, I wish, I could_

_Oh, no there ain't no rest for the wicked_

_Until I close my eyes for good_

The music boomed across the building; its lyrics oddly fitting, of course that was probably the idea.

**48 HOURS TO CRACK THE CODE. **

**MUSIC IS POWER.**

**WELCOME BACK, HOMIES.**

_But even then I can't say much _

_Because I know we're all the same,_

_Oh, yes we all seek out to satisfy those thrills_

_Oh not here ain't no rest for the wicked,_

_Money don't grow on trees_

_We got bills to pay_

_We got mouths to feed_

_And ain't nothin' in this world for free_

_Oh, no we can't slow down_

_We can't hold back_

_Though we know we wish we could_

_Oh. No there ain't no rest for the wicked_

_Until we close our eyes for good._

**-Hello! Thanks so much to aorangeinboston, stinkysox, and Animalfeelings, for reviewing! It makes me all happy and shit XD. Seriously, it makes me really happy! : D Also, thanks to, anorangeinboston, CapitanoftheUSSTardis, magicard, and School of Seven Bells for either following or favoriting! I really hope that you liked this chapter, and feel free to give me any suggestions! Thanks so much, and have a nice day : )-**

**-PS: The song I used is called; There Ain't no Rest for the Wicked by Cage the Elephant. You should really listen to it! It's a great song and fits well with this chapter!- **


	10. The Alliance

**The more you tighten your grip, the more things start to slip through your fingers.**

The blonde pair sat beside each other, the taller of the two talking in quiet, irritable tones.

"The nerve! The sheer nerve of them!" Spat the man. "Honestly, I can't even…Oh!" He shook his head, running a trembling hand through his hair.

The companion nodded, patting the flustered man on the back. "I know." She said, simply. Herself in a quiet thoughtful state; choosing to listen to the man's troubles, while contemplating her own.

The blonde man sighed, deeply. "It's times like these when I could just leave." His eyes studied the busy street before them, watching the cars fly by as the people lived their busy lives; all the while feeling small and insignificant amongst the bustling life of the city.

"But I'll never do that, not in a million years. I could never do that to the bastard." He paused again, as a melancholic expression settled upon his face. "Who am I kidding? He doesn't need me. I need him." His eyes focused on the early, morning sky. "I could walk out of his life and nothing would change for him." He paused, taking a deep breath. "But me…Everything would change for me."

The girl shook her head, her thin brows knitting together. "I don't think that's true."

The man looked up, startled by her sudden reply.

She continued. "I mean, why else would he want to keep you out of this?" She giggled, softly, nudging his arm. "Because you do matter, John Watson. And I think he'd do anything, to stop you leaving." She laughed, quietly. "Even if it means being a total bastard."

The Good Doctor smiled, his hand covering the girl's. "Thank you." He paused, laughing slightly. "He's still being an arrogant prick though."

The girl smiled back, nodding in agreement. Suddenly, her smile turned into a goofy grin, as she uttered her next sentence.

"Do you love him?"

It was a simple enough question; however, it left John Watson speechless. Clearing his throat, awkwardly, he managed to choke out a small, "What?"

"Do you love him?" She asked again.

John's jaw tightened, as he clasped his hands together. "Sherlock Holmes is married to his work."

Clare wagged her finger. "But that doesn't answer my question."

John looked down. "I think it does."

Clare sighed, kicking her feet back and forth. "Can I still call you Uncle John?"

John laughed, his face brightening ever so slightly. "Of course, kido." He wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. "You still angry with Mycroft?"

Clare sighed. "A little...but I'll get over it eventually. He means well, I guess." She paused, looking up at her uncle. "You did tell them where we went, right?"

John laughed. "Yes, I texted both your father and Sherlock."

"He's not my father. Not yet, anyway." Clare muttered, quietly.

John raised his eyebrows, but chose not to comment.

A black limousine pulled up to the curb, allowing two tall men to jump out.

"Hiya, boys!" Clare chirped, cheerfully.

Mycroft strode over to the blonde girl, his hands tightly balled into fists; his eyes clouded with anger and hints of worry.

"I do hope that I never gave you the impression that it is, in any way, acceptable for you to just dash about the city without my permission!"

Clare rolled her eyes. "Nice to see you to. I'm fine thanks for asking."

"Do not test me!" Mycroft's voice had risen to a shout, yet again.

"I'm not testing you. Just calm down."

"Young lady! I-"

Clare interrupted. "Calm down."

"Stop this childish behavior right now!" Mycroft stamped his foot on the ground.

Clare raised her eyebrows. "I'm not the one having a tantrum."

John giggled quietly, turning away from the arguing pair, trying not to encourage his niece's antics. Suddenly wary of Sherlock's glaring gaze, John fought back the urge to make some bighting remark.

"You shouldn't leave like that, John." Sherlock looked down, handling the situation with more grace than his elder brother.

"Why? You do."

"That's different."

"It really isn't."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You still shouldn't do it."

"I'll stop when you do." John challenged.

The Detective and The Doctor turned away from each other to watch the other arguing pair.

"I don't want you out of my sight, is that clear?" Mycroft said, through gritted teeth.

Clare walked over to the man, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's clear." She paused, smiling. "I'm glad you were worried about me."

Mycroft looked down at the small hand on his shoulder, unsure of what to do. Quickly, he opened the car door. "Come on. It's not safe here."

Sherlock's hand lightly brushed John's arm. "It would be wise to follow Mycroft."

John nodded, stiffly, and began walking towards the car before Sherlock grabbed his arm, pulling him back.

"I was worried, John…" Sherlock whispered.

John raised his head, looking into Sherlock's eyes. "Really?"

Sherlock nodded, releasing John's arm, and following him into the limousine.

/

"So…What's going on and where are we going?"

Clare's silence had lasted ten minutes and forty five seconds. Mycroft had been counting. The last thing he wanted to do was answer her questions. He wanted her as far away from this situation as possible. However, it was clear that she would not remain completely in the dark. Even though that situation was the most ideal, it was also the most unrealistic. And as much as it pained him to admit, Clare did deserve to know the situation at hand.

Mycroft ran a hand over his face, trying to avoid the conversation a moment longer.

"I would like to know as well." John Watson spoke up.

Mycroft rolled his eyes, no avoiding it now.

Sighing, he began to explain. "The Moriarty criminal organization has organized a form of attack, targeting the power grid facilities controlling London's power distribution. They have already knocked out the Southern side of London and have threatened to issue a total black out within the next forty eight hours. They have personally requested that Sherlock and I solve the situation, threatening us both with their messages of "I.O.U"." He paused. "We are unsure of what exactly they plan to accomplish at this time. As of now we are seeking refuge at one of the Holmes' more private estates, outside of London." He had chosen his words carefully. For, he could no longer keep Clare and John in the dark, that much was certain. However, he would do everything in his power to make sure that their involvement in the case was little to none. Sherlock had agreed with his judgment. Yes, for the first time in sixteen years; the Holmes brothers had agreed on something. They couldn't risk another fall. Not this time.

John spoke up. "Okay…So, what's the plan of action? What can I do to help?"

Mycroft turned his gaze onto Sherlock, deciding to leave it to his little brother to deliver the unpleasant news. For, the British Government had once been on the receiving side of Dr. Watson anger and it was a situation that he would like to avoid revisiting.

Sherlock straightened in his seat, facing the Doctor. "I still think it would be best if you sat this one out, John."

John shook his head, the anger from their previous conversation rising. "We already went over this. I am helping and that is final. Nothing is going to change that, Sherlock."

"You have no choice in the matter." Sherlock's voice was stern.

John's jaw tightened. "I wasn't asking for _your_ permission, Sherlock." He growled.

"But you need it, John." He sighed. "There is too much at risk."

"I don't _care_ about the risks, Sherlock!" John shouted, glaring at the Consulting Detective.

"But I _do_, John!" Sherlock shouted back.

"SINCE WHEN HAVE _YOU_ _CARED_?" John screamed, causing the Detective to fall silent.

"Stop it! The both of you!" Clare's voice rang across the limo, causing the men to pause.

The car rolled to a stop before the driver announced their arrival.

Clare sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "We're not going to help anything by arguing amongst ourselves. So why doesn't everyone just take a deep breath, and _calm the fuck down_."

Mycroft nodded, clearing his throat. "Yes…Well…Sherlock, follow me into the study; there are things we need to discuss." Grabbing his coat from Clare, he turned to John. "Keep an eye on Clare, Dr. Watson…And do stay out of trouble." Without another word, the Holmes brothers left the limo, striding into The Holmes Estate.

John glared at the floor, contemplating the situation. "So, are we just sit here and do nothing?!"

A small voice answered him. "I guess so…I mean, it's not like we can hear what their planning and figure stuff out behind their backs or anything...That would be crazy!" Clare shook her head, a grin spreading across her face.

John raised an eyebrow. "What've you done?..."

Clare looked up, her grin spreading wider. "Ohhhh, my iPod just happened to slip into Mycroft's jacket pocket just as he was leaving and I just happened to have activated a voice app that will record everything that they're saying..." She paused, laughing quietly. "Whoops."

John couldn't hold back his smile. "You really are a Holmes. A brilliant, bloody, Holmes."

And so the alliance was formed between The Doctor and The Girl, adding two more players into this dangerous game of I.O.U.

**-Thank you SOOOOO much to Animalfeelings, luv dove -10, stinkysox, and aorangeinboston, for reviewing! It means so much to me : ). Also, thanks to JusticeLarae13 for following. I hoped you lliked this chapter! Please, feel free to leave any suggestions; I will always try my best to work them into the story! Reviews are the best; I love to know how I'm doing. Thanks for reading, and have a nice day!-**

**P.S: I've been in a bit of an unpleasant pickle lately, so it might take me a little longer to publish the next chapter. Sorry! : (**


	11. Honeybee

**Almost is one of the most painful words out there. To be so close to winning only to lose, that's what almost is. Almost is the worst.**

_(IMPORTANT NOTICE: There will be a song later on in this chapter that I think you should listen to as you're reading. It's called Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe. There will be a notice as to when you should play it. Thanks for reading! Carry on ^-^)_

The blonde pair sat, huddled over the computer, listening to the deep baritone voice rumble through the speakers.

"Music is power." The voice muttered, pausing for a brief moment. "Obviously, the music is the key to fix the systems, to stop the blackout…But how? How? How? _How_?" The voice continued it's pondering, unaware that it's unwanted listeners were doing the same. How indeed, they all thought. The voice was silent for several moments as the listeners processed the information, attempting to draw to their own conclusions.

"Maybe…A code?" The girl whispered.

The Doctor shrugged, he himself struggling to find an answer.

A loud clap sounded from the computer, causing the listeners to jump. John smiled in spite of himself; he could picture the look on Sherlock's face, that look of pure joy and satisfaction. That same look never failed to make John smile, no matter what the current situation. He loved that look. He loved…

"Wait…A code…Of course, of course!" The Detective shouted, excited.

The girl couldn't hide her satisfied smirk, her face mirroring that of her uncle. The Doctor giggled, ruffling her hair, playfully. She was good.

"The lyrics…They obviously seem to have some meaning." Mycroft's voice appeared, sounding tired, defeated even.

"No, no; too simple. A code for this software would have to be a completely random combination, and with that particular security system, the code would have to be 16 sequences, no more, no less. Do your research, Mycroft." Sherlock snapped, his words coming out at warp speed, each syllable dripping with distain. "No, there's something we're missing. Something…" The Detective's words halted, as he began to hum a tune.

Clare perked up at the sound of the song. Turning up the volume on the computer, she had her own mental break through. "I know that song… 'Ain't No Rest for the Wicked.'" She said, laughing slightly. "Good choice." She scribbled down notes, collecting her own data.

The Detective's humming rang from the speakers, before abruptly stopping as he sneered, "Stop pacing, _Mycroft_."

"_Apologies_." Came The Politian's irritable reply.

Sherlock groaned. "I can't think…" His voice lowered to a whisper. "I can't think…"

John's brow furrowed, the detective was going into his mind palace.

"Sherlock?" Mycroft's voice was sharp. "_Sherlock_?"

There was no reply from the detective, and there wouldn't be for quite some time.

"I need a drink." Mycroft mumbled, quietly. No more sounds came from the computer.

John sighed. "We won't be hearing from them anytime soon."

Clare shook her head. "That's fine. I have all I need." She poured over her notes, a Sherlock-like aura glowing around her.

John sat back in his chair, watching the girl get to work, a pit settling in his stomach. She was a Holmes, almost painfully so. There was nothing of the giggling girl he had sat with hours before. Something had changed in her. "Let me know if you need anything." He said quietly.

She nodded, smiling at The Good Doctor. "Thank you, Uncle John. For everything."

The Doctor smiled back, relief flooding his body as his previous thoughts washed away. She was a Holmes, but she was also Clare. She was the best of both worlds.

/

John awoke to the hum of a radio. Remembering where he was, he sat up in his chair. Looking around the room, he noted the time.

10:00PM

They had been at it for nearly, 16 hours. Running a hand across his face, John walked over to Clare.

"Come on. Take a break, kido." He said, patting her back.

"But…I'm-" The girl protested.

"Nope." John shook his head, dragging her to her feet.

An upbeat tune boomed around the room, allowing goofy grins to spread across each of their faces.

John swayed and wiggled to the music, dragging Clare along with him. Both laughing, hysterically, forgetting their troubles as they poorly danced to the music.

/

Sherlock was jolted out of his mind palace. Laughing, he heard laughing. Two pairs of laughter to be exact. One was, John. Of course it was John. He would know that laugh anywhere. He loved that laugh. He loved…

Who was the second…Ah, Clare was laughing as well. But why? Why would they be laughing?

Sherlock turned to his brother. "Mycroft!" He snapped. No response. "_Mycroft!_" Again, nothing. The fat git had gone into his stupid mind library. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock chucked a pillow over at The British Government, hitting the Politian square in the face.

"_What?_!" Mycroft shouted, startled out of his thoughts.

Sherlock felt a smug accomplished feeling wash over him. He always did when he managed to annoy his brother. "Listen." The younger Holmes said.

Mycroft was silent. He heard it to.

Neither of the Holmes brothers knew why they found themselves drawn to the laughter. They never felt the need to seek it out before. Normally, those joyous sounds would repel the Holmes brothers. For they had no need for something so trivial. But there was something drawing them in. Something was special about this laughter, something that made it different from the trivial, everyday chortle.

They followed the sounds, as if they were in a trance, still unsure as to why they were doing so. Walking down the hallways, hearing the voices volumes increase as they neared their destination.

Peering in the doorway, the Holmes brothers looked upon the laughing pair.

The Doctor and girl twirled around the room, jumping, and wiggling every which way, laughing, and laughing, and laughing.

Unable to hide their smiles, the Holmes brothers continued to watch.

And it dawned on The Ice Man and The Detective, why this was so special. It wasn't laughter its self, but rather the people it was coming from.

These people were the most important in the world, according to the Holmes brothers. But they would never say that, not out loud. It was too dangerous to say. Too personal.

So they would just watch.

The song ended and so did the dancing, as the laughing Doctor and girl turned to see their audience.

"Ah, come to mingle with the commoners, have we?" He said, in that joking tone of his.

Sherlock just stood silently, stoically, unsure of how to deal with the feelings welling up inside his heart, as he saw The Good Doctor smile.

Another lively tune boomed from the radio, and the blonde pair shared identical smirks, as they dragged in the Holmes brothers, each of the geniuses shouting various forms of protest.

So the dancing began, The Doctor and The Detective, The Ice Man and The Daughter.

Clare smiled up at her father, his horrified face comical. He was such a child sometimes. She rolled her eyes, taking his large hands in her small ones, as she swayed back and forth.

Mycroft stood still, unsure of what to do. He had danced before, quite often in fact. But that was with Annie, only for his Annie would he dance. And she had been gone so long. But as he looked down at his daughter, smiling up at him, swinging his arms back and forth, Anne wasn't gone. She was right in front of him, his Annie. Rather, a part of his Annie, but it was enough. It was enough to make him dance.

John looked into Sherlock's eyes. Was he really going to dance with The Detective? Really? Grabbing Sherlock's hands, John smiled. Yes, yes he was. He was dancing with The Detective.

Sherlock gulped. What was John doing? How was this possible? He couldn't allow this. But he did. He was allowing it. Hell, he didn't want it to stop. He didn't want to stop dancing.

Soon they all were, laughing, forgetting their troubles. Each pair twirling around the room. The Doctor and The Detective, The Ice Man and The Daughter, were dancing.

The lively tune came to a stop, switching to something else. A calm ballad, causing the group to pause.

**(Put on Honeybee by Steam Powered Giraffe for maximum enjoyment of this moment :)**

Sherlock looked at John, attempting to assess the situation, but his brain stopped working as soon as their eyes met. Pulling John closer, Sherlock continued to dance, an unfamiliar feeling tugging at his heart. He felt The Doctor's head rest on his shoulder. Sherlock couldn't think, but he didn't want to. He just wanted to feel.

_Ooooh, ooooh._

Standing on her father's feet, Clare relaxed. All of their previous arguments, and challenges didn't matter anymore. He was her father, and he loved her, she was sure of it. It was like she was a child again, dancing on her father's feet. But that didn't matter. She had her father back that was all she cared about.

The song spoke for its self.

_You didn't have to look my way_

_Your eyes still haunt me to this day_

_But you did_

_Yes you did_

Each swayed to the music, letting their feelings of love and peace wash over them.

_You didn't have to say my name_

_Ignite my circuits _

_Start a flame_

_But you did_

_Oh!_

_Turpentine, erase me whole_

'_Cause I don't want to live my life alone_

_Well, I was waiting for you all my life_

_Oh, Oh, Oh_

_I, I, I_

_Set me free_

_My honeybee_

In that moment, they were a family.

_You didn't have to smile at me_

_Your grin's the sweetest that I've ever seen_

_But you did_

_Yes you did_

_You didn't have to offer your hand_

'_Cause since I kissed it I am at your command_

_But you did_

_Oh!_

_Turpentine erase me whole_

'_Cause I don't want to live my life alone_

_Well I was waiting for you all my life_

_Oh, Oh, Oh_

_I, I,I_

John didn't know what to think, as he rested in Sherlock's arms. But he felt that is was right. Whatever it was, it was right.

_Set me free_

_My honeybee_

Mycroft watched Clare as he let her twirl. She was perfect. His perfect little girl. In that moment he couldn't help but feel proud. Anne would have been proud.

_Hello, Goodbye_

'_Twas nice to know you_

_How I'll find myself without you_

_That I'll never know_

_That I'll never know_

_I let myself go_

_I let myself go_

_Hello, Goodbye_

_I'm rather crazy_

_And I never thought I was crazy _

_But what do I know_

_But what do I know_

_I let myself go_

_I let myself go_

_Oh_

_Honeybee_

Sherlock let his hands rest on John's back, letting himself, for one moment, feel complete.

_Hello, Goodbye_

'_Twas nice to know you_

_How I'll find myself without you_

_That I'll never know_

_Honeybee_

_I let myself go_

_Hello, Goodbye_

_I'm rather crazy_

_And I never thought I was crazy_

_But what do I know_

_But what do I know_

_I let myself go_

_I let myself go_

_Hello, Goodbye_

'_Twas nice to know you_

_How I'll find myself without you _

_That I'll never know_

_Hello, Goodbye_

_I let myself go_

_I'm rather crazy_

_Now you have to go_

_And I never thought I was crazy_

The song ended, bringing Sherlock closer to John then he ever had been before, emotionally, physically, in every way possible.

"John..." He said, his face inches from The Doctor's.

The moment was perfect. They were so close they were almost…

The twang of a guitar sounded from the radio, as Ain't No Rest for the Wicked began to play.

_Oh no, there ain't no rest for the wicked_

_Money don't grow on trees_

_I got bills to pay_

_I got mouths to feed_

Sherlock felt his heart harden, as he pulled away from John.

Mycroft left Clare's side as he checked his phone.

"The North side's down, homies. Back to work. You have one day. Nice moves by the way." He read aloud.

Sherlock straightened his jacket, and moved towards the door. Mycroft did the same.

"Well…Back to work." Said The Detective before exiting the room, leaving The Doctor behind.

Mycroft glanced at his daughter, his eyes hardening, nothing left of the man who let her dance on his feet. With a curt nod, he followed his brother out the door.

And so it was that one song had brought them together, only for another to draw them apart; leaving them to choose which song to listen to.

**-Hello! Thank you to School of Seven Bells and Guest for reviewing! It makes me happy :). Thanks for reading this story, the next chapter should be up soonish! As always, feel free to leave any suggestions, and have a nice day!-**


	12. You're Gonna Lose That Girl

_**You wish now that our places had been exchanged- That I had died and Boromir had lived.**_

_**Yes, I do wish that.**_

_**Since you were robbed of Boromir, then I will do what I can in his stead. If I should return, think better of me, Father.**_

_**That will depend on the manor of your return.**_

_**(An exchange between a father and son) J.r.r Tolkien The Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King**_

The music flowed around in her head, dancing. The 4:4 tempo, holding all of the notes together in a euphony of sounds, the sounds, the notes, the _music_. That was what held the importance, the key to this impossible problem. The not the lyrics, the _music_.

Clare listened again, and again, and again. But still nothing.

Running her hands through her hair, Clare sighed. Maybe it was time to give up. It wasn't like she could do this, she who was the epitome of normal. Nothing special; that was Clare. But her father, and her uncle, and John. The Government, The Genius, and The Hero. All important, all exceedingly special. If they couldn't figure it out, how was she supposed to?

Shaking her head, Clare walked over to the window. As the city lights burned low, the stars burned even brighter. Clare recalled that on her eleventh birthday, she looked up at those stars as they burned bright in the Indiana sky; she _really_ looked. As she gazed upon those flaming orbs, she saw her place in the universe, and it was small. In that moment, Clare realized her greatest fear. To die with having lived a life that wasn't worth living. So she promised that she would be great. She would be the best she could ever be. But finding an opportunity for greatness is not as easy as it seems.

And with a grandmother like hers, there was no chance for greatness.

"_Your father is a great man, a smart man. He knew what he was doing when he dumped you with me. He knew that you'd amount to nothing."_

Her hateful words rang in Clare's ears, and stabbed her heart.

"_It's all your fault, you know. She didn't have to die. She was protecting you. Why couldn't they have shot you? It should've been you. And I will never forgive you. And neither will your father."_

Every day she was reminded.

"_It's your fault."_

"_Your fault."_

"_It's all your fault, you know."_

"_And I will never forgive you."_

"_Neither will your father."_

"'_Should've been you."_

"'_Should've been you."_

"'_Should've been you."_

So, Clare sought out greatness as a form of redemption. She wanted,_ needed_, to do the best with her life. The life that should've been given to her mother instead.

So she would do this. She would find the answer. And she would prove to her father that she's doing the best she can to make up for it not being her on May 9th 1997.

Shutting out her previous thoughts, Clare listened to the music one last time.

She concentrated the data and music floating across her mind.

"_A code for this software would have to be a completely random combination…" _She heard Sherlock's voice say. _"…Would have to be at least 16 sequences, no more, no less."_

_16 sequences_

_16 sequences_

_16 sequences_

And it hit her. The guitar. The chords. That was it!

_GBbC GBbC GBbC GBbC GBbCBbF GBbCBbF GBbCBbF GBbCBbF GBbCF GBbCF GBbCF GBbCF GBbCF GBbCF GBbCF GBbCF_

She did it. She did it.

/

Clare didn't know what she was doing as she ran down the hallway and into her father's office. She really hadn't thought the whole thing out. But for once in her life, she had done something great and she didn't care about what the consequences were. She just wanted to let him know. She just wanted to make him proud. And it hadn't occurred to her that he might not be.

Bursting through the door, Clare had reached the point of no return.

"I figured it out." She said, smiling.

Her uncle and her father stared, blankly.

This was not going as planned.

Mycroft stood, shocked. Slowly, he walked over to his daughter. "You did what?"

"I-I…" Clare stuttered. This was not right.

Mycroft's head was reeling. Why was he so angry? What was going on? She figured it out? She got involved? But that would mean she was in so much more danger. How could she be so careless? They would come for her; there was no way of keeping her out of it now.

"You deliberately disobeyed me." His voice was cold, rough. But he was worried for her…But he didn't know how to show worry…She he'd just show anger instead.

"But…I figured…I know the answer."

"I told you to stay out of it…"

"Yes…But if you just listen…"

"I am done listening!" He shouted. "I am done with you!"

Clare fell silent. This was not right at all.

He had no choice now. It was proven. He couldn't let her stay in this environment, there was too much of a risk. She was already getting too involved. She was too much like him, too head strong. There would be no way to protect her. And he was sorry, he was so sorry. But he couldn't bare it if he lost her because he cared…But he couldn't tell her that, no matter how hard he tried…He just, couldn't. So he said this instead.

"You…Have been nothing but trouble. And this...This was a mistake. This was never going to work." He shook his head. "This is no place for a child. And you are a child, a stupid, little girl." Immediately, Mycroft regretted those words. But he was doing the right thing. He was just trying to protect her. It was for her own good. She couldn't stay here. "Get your things." He continued.

"W-What?"

"Get your things. The car will be waiting for you. I will notify your Uncle that you will be returning to him." This is for the best. He reminded himself, ignoring the lump rising in his throat. He couldn't risk her getting more involved. It was too dangerous. It's for the best. "The car will be waiting outside. It will take you where you need to go."

Clare stood there, silent tears streaming down her face. She placed the code on Mycroft's desk. "I'm not stupid…" She whispered quietly. "I'm not stupid."

She walked to the door, stopping when her hand reached the handle. "I thought you'd forgiven me. And for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I'm sorry it wasn't me." She turned away, closing the door quietly behind her.

Mycroft stood, frozen, in every sense of the word.

Sherlock walked over to the desk, picking up the code, typing the message on his phone.

A few moments passed, before Sherlock's phone broke the silence.

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Mycroft."

"What?" He snapped.

"Clare was right." Sherlock said, handing him the phone.

Mycroft looked down, and read. _"Congratz, Homies! The blackout has been prevented, but no biggy I've got what I wanted! She truly is a remarkable girl, and I'm sorry...I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do. Let's see if you can figure it out. Here's a song to get your gears turning." _

Sherlock ran to the radio, his face panicked.

A cheery Beatles song played.

_You're gonna lose that girl_

_Yes, yes you're gonna lose that girl_

_You're gonna lose that girl_

_If you don't take her out tonight_

_She's gonna change her mind_

_And I will take her out tonight _

_And I will treat her kind_

_You're gonna lose that girl_

_Yes, yes you're gonna lose that girl_

_If you don't treat her right my friend, _

_You're gonna find her gone_

_Cos I will treat her right and then _

_You'll be the lonely one_

_You're gonna lose that girl_

_You're gonna lose_

_Yes, yes, you're gonna lose that girl_

_I'll make a point of taking her away from you_

_The way you treat her, what else can I do?_

_If you don't take her out tonight _

_She's gonna change her mind_

_And I will take her out tonight _

_And I will treat her kind_

_You're gonna lose that girl_

_Yes, yes you're gonna lose that girl_

_You're gonna lose that girl_

_Yes, yes you're gonna lose that girl_

_You're gonna lose that girl_

_Yes, yes you're gonna lose that girl_

"Clare…" Mycroft whispered.

**-Hello! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks to Cammie and luv- dove -10 for reviewing! You guys are awesome! Also, thanks to Ryebred for favoriting and following! I really hoped you liked this chapter, and feel free to leave any suggestions or comments : ). As always, have a great day!-**


	13. Daddy

Mycroft swore he'd never feel this way again. His head ached and spun, as waves of guilt, crashed against his walls, threatening to break his defense.

Mycroft turned to face his brother, as his walls came crumbling down under the power of his guilt. Brick by brick they fell, until the last pebble washed away.

His eyes grew wide. His fear became evident, as well as his heart break. There was nothing to protect him from the wrath of this raging sea. Each wave crashed over him, bringing new terror. He couldn't breathe.

He was drowning, in years of oppression.

He was drowning.

The younger brother stood back, studying the elder. He had seen that look on his brother's face once before. Now was not the time for Mycroft to break down.

Scowling at his elder brother, Sherlock griped his shoulder. "No." He growled.

The Detective's sharp reply brought air back into Mycroft. Shaking his head, he pulled his last line of defense.

Picking up his coat and pistol, Mycroft made his way to the door, Sherlock following close behind.

"You know where they are taking her?" The Detective asked.

"Yes." Mycroft whispered, taking quick steps across the hall way.

Suddenly, there were foot steps behind the pair. Sherlock turned to meet John's eyes.

He could see the gears turning in the Doctor's head, as he pieced together the situation.

"I'm coming with you." John said, trailing after the tall men.

"No." Sherlock couldn't risk another fall. And this new Moriarty obviously wanted to play dirty.

The Doctor still followed.

Turning to face his blogger, Sherlock blocked his way. "No, John."

John looked into his eyes. "You need me. I know you do." Sherlock knew the double meaning to this. And he knew that it was true. Which made what he was about to do even more painful.

"No, John. I don't." He lied. And he hated it. The look in The Good Doctor's eyes sent a chill down Sherlock's spine. "You'll just slow us down."

Mycroft turned to look at the pair. Time was of the essence, and they couldn't waste another moment. Although he wished things had been easier, that none of this had happened. But it did, and this was the way it needed to be. Sometimes you need to hurt the ones you love, so that others wouldn't do it instead. And Sherlock loves John, Mycroft knows that.

John looked down, hurt passing through his eyes for a brief moment, only a moment before it was gone. John Watson was a soldier. John Watson was strong. And, for now, John Watson was broken. But that was only for John Watson to know.

"Right." He said.

"Sherlock, the car's waiting." Mycroft said.

Sherlock nodded, following Mycroft out the door.

John stood back, watching them go.

A loud beep sounded from Mycroft's phone. Looking down, Mycroft read the message.

_Oh, no, no! Mr. Holmes. It's just you and me this time._

And then all hell broke loose.

A scream of, _"Sherlock!"_ and a loud shot echoed through the air.

Sherlock felt himself fall to the ground, a heavy weight pressing him down. "Go, Mycroft! Go!" He shouted after his brother as more shots were fired.

Mycroft sped away, leaving the scene.

The shots stopped.

Sherlock cleared his head, analyzing the situation.

_They were walking. _

_Sherlock heard John shout his name._

_He fell to the ground as a shot was fired._

_He was uninjured. _

_More shots were fired._

_Mycroft left, uninjured._

_The shots stopped._

_There was something pressing him down to the ground._

The weight rolled off of him. Sherlock turned on his side, confirming his fears.

John lay on the ground, clutching his side in pain, as blood stained his sweater. He turned to look at Sherlock.

"See…" He croaked. "I told you, you needed me."

Sherlock felt his heart drop. He crawled over to his bleeding Doctor. "I know." He said, brushing a strand of hair from John's forehead. His Doctor was growing pail. "John…"

John laughed, quietly, blood gushing form his side. "Well, don't just sit there." He winced. "Call a bloody ambulance…You idiot."

/

Mycroft was calm as he made his way to the final meeting place. Of course they would choose this place. It was only fitting. And they were all about the fit, this Moriarty group.

He hadn't been to this house in fifteen years. Anne had loved it here, the quaint country side. It was the perfect place to raise their small family.

But it was not the perfect things that he remembered about this place.

He supposed that made him weak or pessimistic.

But that didn't much matter.

Slowly, he pulled into the drive, parking the car.

Stepping out, he prepared himself. He didn't know what he'd find. He had an idea, but he quickly fought it down.

He didn't want another May 9th.

But he feared…He feared…

He shook his head. Now was not the time to break.

Taking a deep breath, he entered the house.

"Well, well. That took you long enough." A sly voice rang across the hall.

Mycroft turned to face it.

The man smiled, not an unkind smile, a normal, peaceful smile. Something about it made Mycroft's hair stand on end. It's normalcy, unsettling in such a situation. It's very essence screamed, danger, and deceit.

Mycroft nodded. "I was unaware that we were running on a schedule."

The Man laughed. "Oh! No, no. _We've _got all the time in the world. I just thought you might be a bit more hasty, seeing as the stakes are oh so very high." He paused, his eyebrows raised. "Aren't they?"

Mycroft shrugged. "You tell me."

The Man wagged his finger, stepping closer to the Elder Holmes. "Ah, but that wouldn't be very fun. Now would it?"

"So, this is a game?"

The Man placed a hand on The British Government's shoulder. "My dear, Mister Holmes. Of course it's a game." He paused. "And a test."

"A test?"

The Man circled his pray. "A test of faith."

"My faith?"

"Too dull."

"Your faith?"

"Close." He smiled again, clasping his hands together.

Mycroft took a seat, nodding his head towards The Man. "By all means, explain."

"You understand business, Mister Holmes. You know the importance of…Rank so to speak." The Man crossed his legs, smiling again.

Mycroft nodded. "Continue."

"My predecessor, God rest his weary soul, had the distinct advantage of seniority in this business. Many, many successful crimes stocked in his portfolio. But me, I have hardly any experience." Leaning forward, he began to whisper. "And let me tell you, this is a very competitive business. I need to impress my clients."

Mycroft nodded. "Ah, so. You need faith from your clients."

Clapping his hands, slowly, The Man praised Mycroft. "Very good, old man!" He paused, leaning back in his chair. "And what better way to impress the hungry masses than with a good old fashioned show down with The Holmes brothers?" He paused. "You specifically."

The Ice Man raised his eyebrows. "Do explain."

The Man began to circle, Mycroft's chair. "You, the Ice Man. Jim liked your brother, but then again, he never was much for a challenge, old Jimmy boy." He giggled, quietly. "Sherlock is so human, compared to you. He has his John, his Mrs. Hudson, but you…You don't have anybody." Mycroft felt a sympathetic hand rest on his shoulder. "Jim was good at many things but he had one flaw. He didn't understand people, sure he was a genius…But he was disconnected. But me, I am a people person!" The hand released Mycroft's shoulder, as The Man walked about the room. "You were a challenge, Mycroft. You had no weakness, not even your own brother. Jim could bring Sherlock down, and that impressed many. And so I thought to myself, why not give the Ice Man a try. Surely, that would give me my recognition. And let me tell you, people will pay to know the weakness of The British Government."

Mycroft nodded, feigning boredom. "And so, you think you have found my weakness?"

"To tell you the truth, I'm not so sure."

A dark look passed over The Man's face, making his friendly features turn deadly, sinister even.

"I mean…To send her away like that. That was cold, even for you, _Ice Man_."

Mycroft straightened in his seat.

"Do you care for her?" The Man asked.

Mycroft was silent.

"I will ask again…DO YOU CARE FOR HER?" He shouted, his faced contorting in rage. But it passed as quickly as it came, his face fell back into that easy, friendly smile.

Looking up the stairs, The Man pointed. "It was up there wasn't it?"

"What was up there?" Mycroft rolled his eyes, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach.

"You know what, Mycroft dear. You know what you found up there."

Mycroft fell silent.

"That must have been awful, I mean four bullet wounds to the head. That must have been enough to paint the room with." The Man shook his head. "I don't know about you but…" A gun slid from his pocket. "I've always been a fan of red."

He continued. "She's up there you know. The same room and everything. I think the room could use a fresh coat, don't you?" He raised his hands in question. "Unless you disagree."

Mycroft said nothing, his mind was reeling. He had to get Clare out of there.

The Man shook his head. "Perhaps you need some incentive." Pulling his phone out, he handed it to Mycroft.

A video played on the small screen.

Clare sat, tied in the middle of a room, blood pouring down her face.

"Please." She whispered.

There was an echoing slap as a hand collided with her cheek.

It made Mycroft's stomach churn.

"Stop." She said.

Another slap, this one harder.

Mycroft closed his eyes. "Enough." He whispered.

"Oh but you're going to miss the best part." The Man said, smiling.

The Man himself stepped into the picture, his hand trailed down Clare's bloodied face.

"You really are beautiful." He whispered, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "It's a shame that we had to mar such a precious face." His smiling mouth pressed to her cheek.

Mycroft couldn't take anymore. "I said…_enough_." He hissed, pressing his gun into The Man's side.

The Man laughed. "And now were getting somewhere."

"Where is she?" Mycroft growled. He was done with this game.

"I already told you. The walls needed a fresh coat."

"If you have harmed her any more…I swear…"

The Man interrupted. "Just say it, Mycroft. You care."

"Will it make a difference?" Mycroft said.

The Man chuckled. "People will pay a lot of money to know you care, Mycroft." He smiled. "And I promise, I will do her no more harm. I am a man of my word, Mycroft."

There was a piercing scream from the upstairs.

"Say it." The Man whispered, pressing record on his phone.

Mycroft looked into his warm eyes. "I care."

A gleeful smile lit up The Man's face. "A pleasure doing business with you Mister Holmes. Your prize is upstairs, second door to the right, I believe." The Man turned to face Mycroft. "And thank you, Mister Holmes. You have made me famous. I will go down in history…The Man who melted the Ice Man…I quite like the sound of that." He turned to leave, pausing just half way out the door. "Oh, and I will keep my promise. I will do her no more harm. However, the same cannot be said for my clients. Tread lightly, Mister Holmes. I'll see you around."

With that he was gone.

Mycroft stood, racing up the stairs, finally reaching the second door on the left. He swung it opened, bursting into the room. He was raw, his emotions all on display.

A battered and bleeding Clare, lay on the floor. Mycroft knelt down, pulling her into his arms.

"Daddy…" She whispered

Mycroft felt tears brim in his eyes, as he pulled her close. "Yes, I'm here…"

And he would never leave her again.

-Well, this story is almost over! My school year has started so, it' taken me quite a bit of time to update…Sorry! Thanks to Amy, Irene Holmes, Guest, and Leelee5 for reviewing! It means so much to me! Also, thanks to all who favorite and followed! I really hope you liked this chapter! As always, have a great day : )-


	14. It's Fine It's all Fine

There was a whirring of sounds, ambulance sirens cut through the quiet air, stomping of boots, and constant beeping of monitors sounded. Two ambulances rode to separate scenes, one came to rescue an unconscious, battered girl, the other aiding a bleeding war hero.

Both vehicles were to arrive on their separate scenes, simultaneously, their array of noises ensued. The hard stomping of rushing paramedics, shouts of orders, and the rumbles of the machinery. All would be louder than necessary in normal situations, but not these cases.

In these situations, silence must be avoided. For we all know what silence means. Noise means life, noise gives meaning, hope even. All of these noises distracted from the pressing silence of the victims.

The wailing sirens added a voice to the one sided conversations the Holmes brothers carried, as their loved ones lay in their arms.

John had been quiet; too quiet for Sherlock's liking. But Sherlock kept talking, saying things that he would never say to John, had he been conscious.

Stroking the soft hair off of His Doctor's forehead, Sherlock whispered quiet pleas. "John…Please. Say something." Soft breaths left The Doctors lips, but no words came. "John…Please…Stop. You can't…You…" Sherlock shook his head, fiercely; trying to remain cold and calm. "I need you." He continued. "I know I don't say that enough. And I know you don't think I do but, trust me, I do." Sherlock let his thumb stroke across John's cheek.

"You're brilliant, John…Amazing…Wonderful…Genius…Fantastic…" Every word became harder and harder to say, as Sherlock poured out his long overdue praises. "I used to be alone, and alone was what protected me but then you came…And you shot that bloody cabby." Sherlock laughed, tears falling down his face. "And I didn't want to be alone anymore…You changed that, with your stupid groceries, and crap telly…You protect me now, John and I don't know what I would do without you." He let a hand cup John's warm cheek, as the Doctor's head rested in the Detective's lap. "You make me feel alive…And I don't even need cases anymore, as long as it means that I have you. And that scares me, John. I've never cared this much…So I tried to push you away…" A quiet sob wracked the Detective's body. "I was wrong…So wrong, John…I should have told you every day, how much you matter. Because you are perfect every day. You are perfect, John…And I'm sorry…I'm so sorry…" Pulling John close, Sherlock let released his tears, sobbing loudly into John's blood stained jumper. "I'm sorry for everything!"

The ambulance's alarm drew closer, before arriving on the scene.

Paramedics jumped out, running over toward the bleeding Doctor and the sobbing Detective.

A quiet whisper reached Sherlock's ear, just before his John was pulled away. "It's fine, Sherlock…It's all fine..." There was a pause, before John spoke again. "I love you…"

The Doctor was pulled from Sherlock's grasp, leaving The Detective to sit in silence once more.

/

Clare had been unconscious for quite some time now. Leaving Mycroft to sit in an eerie silence, as he held her close.

Unlike his brother, Mycroft held his confessions in. He had much to say, but he chose to express it with quiet touches to his daughter's hair, reassuring strokes and constant closeness, there was no need soil this moment with words, not yet.

He studied his daughter. Running her soft, honey colored hair through his fingers, studying her pail skin. He noted the light freckle that resided just below her right eye, its brown color contrasting with her ivory skin. Mycroft smiled, a lump rising in his throat as he lightly touched his thumb to the mark. He saw the dimple in her chin, and the way it pointed out wards.

She had his chin and his ears…Tears prickling at his eyes, he lightly touched each. He noted how she had her mother's eyes, and he remembered how his expressions reflected through them. He traced the sharp lines of her cheek bones, their definition marking her as a Holmes.

He traced a finger down her nose, noting its larger size. This was no doubt something that Clare would like to change. For, that was always a feature Anne had complained about on her own face, he recalled.

But he would never let Clare change it. She was perfect, in his eyes. His perfect, darling girl.

And he would never forgive himself for putting her in this situation.

Daddy…She had called him Daddy.

Unable to hold on any longer, Mycroft broke down. Silent sobs wracked his body as he pulled Clare into him, clinging to her, desperately.

The Ambulance sounded in the distance, ready to rescue.

/

Sherlock sat in a private waiting room, a cold numbness washing over him. They would not let him follow John. But he had tried, oh had he tried.

He fought his way through Doctors and Nurses, pushing them out of the way, making a scene. Eventually, the staff was forced to call security who deposited him into this waiting room.

The room seemed to be dedicated to hold the more reluctant relatives of trauma victims; the ones who would not be parted from their loved ones side, no matter how necessary it might be.

The wide doors opened, jerking Sherlock out of his thoughts.

The same two security guards came in, pulling Mycroft along with them.

They sat The Elder Holmes next to his brother, and left without a word.

Sherlock glanced over. Mycroft looked lost, completely raw and stripped of all of his defenses.

A heavy silence settled in the room.

"You were right…" Mycroft whispered, his eyes not leaving the wall.

"What?" Sherlock said; his voice louder than his brother's. His tone was harsh and confused.

Mycroft continued staring at the wall, a far off look in his eyes. "You told me once that I was jealous of what you had with John, because of what happened with Anne. And you were right. And I am sorry." Mycroft's eyes were wide, haunting.

Sherlock had seen his brother like this once before. And when Mycroft, the ever balanced and unbreakable man, fell; he fell hard.

"Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock." Mycroft's voice was barely audible. "But a life without it is not worth living. I should have told you that." Mycroft began to shake, he began to break down.

Sherlock looked down. He didn't want to see this.

"I care." Mycroft whispered, turning towards his brother.

Sherlock glanced at his brother's haunted eyes. Mycroft was on the verge of a complete melt down. Sherlock felt a sudden pang of compassion, a rush of feeling for his brother as the full weight of the Mycroft's words hit him.

"I know." Sherlock said, looking down. "I always knew."

Still shaking, Mycroft turned back to face the wall.

They were silent for three more hours.

Suddenly, the door swung open as a white clad doctor, briskly entered the room.

Nodding to both of the brothers, she introduced herself. "I am Doctor Jordan, and I have been assigned to both-"

Sherlock cut her off, jumping out of his seat. "Do not bore us with pleasantries. Get to the point." He growled. Mycroft remained silent, still watching the wall.

Scowling up at Sherlock, Dr. Jordan spoke. "They are out of danger, however you will have to wait a couple days before you can see them." Not waiting for a reply, she turned and left the room.

Relief flooded Sherlock's body; he turned toward his brother, a tiny smile breaking across his face.

Mycroft had his head buried in his hands, his body shook with sobs.

Sherlock sat down, wrapping an arm around his brother, all of his previous resentment washing away. _"This will make John proud."_ He thought.

"That was too close." Mycroft gasped through his sobs, his face still buried in his hands. All of his emotions pouring out at once. But he was relieved, he was so relieved.

"It's fine, Mycroft. It's all fine." Sherlock said. And it was, it truly was.

-Thank you so much to AldraanRefugee, helenamaimi, 26TARDIS, and luv dove -10 for reviewing! It means so much! School has been awful, so I don't know when I will update next but I will try to make it as quick as possible! I think that this story has about two more chapters to go before I wrap it up, but I am thinking about writing a sequel! If you think that's a good idea, let me know! Thanks to all who followed and favorite as well! You guys are the BEST : ). As always, have a nice day!-


	15. The Wise Westerner (End of Part One)

Sherlock's dreams were dark. Sirens blared and paramedics stomped through his mind, his vision was clouded with red. There was pain, so much pain. But he knew he wasn't hurt, the blood wasn't his. But he hurt just as much, he felt John's wound as if it was his own. What were these feelings? Panic…Fear…Guilt? He supposed that those would be appropriate titles for what he was experiencing. Amongst the chaos, Sherlock felt a warm weight cover his hand. Comfort washed over him…No, it was something more...So much more. _"Its fine, Sherlock…It's all fine…I love you." _John's words rang in his ears. And something stirred within him, a certain light, lifted him up from the bloody darkness. But what was it? What was this feeling?

_I love you._

_Sherlock!_

_I love you._

_Sherlock!_

_Sher…_

Sherlock jolted awake. A firm hand rested on his.

"You were fussing." John's voice was quiet, raspy.

"John..." Sherlock shot up, his hand still gripping the Doctors. "You're awake."

John laughed quietly, wincing slightly. "Excellent deduction."

Sherlock ignored the snarky comment, as his keen eyes raked over John's body. "You're in pain." He said, after a moment.

John stretched, gingerly. "S'nothing I can't handle."

"John…"

"I'm fine." John smiled, slightly.

Sherlock looked into his eyes. "You shouldn't have done that."

John's eyes hardened. "Done what?"

"You know what."

John slid his hand out from Sherlock's. "Hm."

Anger coursed through Sherlock. Didn't John understand what this was doing to him? How risky that was? What it would do if he hadn't made it?

"Do you have any idea how stupid that was?" Sherlock, growled. "You don't understand how this feels…Of course you don't understand. You're too stupid to understand!" Sherlock was shaking.

John shook his head, his eyes dark. "Well, let me try." He took a deep breath, his voice still soft. "You feel like someone ripped you apart…And then clumsily glued you back together again. You can't breathe, you can't think. You feel like nothing, because the only thing that made you something is gone, and it's all your fault." He paused, looking deep into Sherlock eyes. "You think I don't know how that feels, Sherlock? For three years… I felt like that…And I have never once told you… You don't know the half of it, Sherlock."

Sherlock was silent.

John continued, in a harsh whisper. "And let me tell you this right now. I will never feel like that again. I will never lose you again. And if that means that I have to _fall_, then so be it; As long as you walk this earth, nothing is going to stop me from protecting you. I would rather die, than endure a world without you."

Sherlock was silent as he leaned in close, cupping John's cheek. He didn't know what he was doing, and he didn't care. "You meant it…When you said…"

John nodded, leaning into the Detective's touch. "You asked me once…What I would say if I thought I was going to die…That was it, Sherlock. I. Love. You."

Their lips met, and all was right with the world.

Mycroft sat staring at the wall, as he awaited the arrival of Clare's uncle.

It had been necessary to alert him, however Mycroft would have preferred not to. It was obvious what was going to happen next. Mark would take Clare, and they would go home. And that would be that. Simple. Easy.

_Painless._

The last time he had seen Mark O'Connor had been at Anne's funeral.

They had once been close, friends even. Mark had begged Mycroft, to raise Clare. _"Anne would have wanted you to be together, Mycroft! How can ya send her away like that? You're all she has left!" _Mark had said. But Mycroft didn't listen…

Out of spite, Mycroft had given custody to Mark and Anne's mother, a mistake for which he will never forgive himself.

"_Anne is lookin' down on you and she is ashamed…" _Mark said; his head hanging down low.

The two men hadn't spoken since.

"What're you doing?" Mycroft heard a low, Western voice rumble.

Mark stood above him, his thin, willowy frame towering over The British Government.

Mr. O'Conner's blue eyes held none of the warmth that Mycroft remembered. Unexpectedly this stung. His friendship with Mark was something he treasured, and he had lost it…He had lost everything. So Mycroft just sat, and let himself be judged.

Mark was no dumb hick; his opinion was a good and honorable one. He was a quiet, wise man; who could bring out the best in the worst of things; a man who saw the good in everyone and everything. And to see that disappointment in such a man's eyes was very unsettling indeed.

It was almost as if Anne was looking back at him.

"_Anne is looking down on you and she is ashamed."_ Mycroft heard those words again, and he was…He was so ashamed.

Mark sighed, and took a seat next to The Ice Man.

Shaking his head, Mark ran a hand through his gray hair, looking through the window into Clare's room. "God, I love that kid…"

Mycroft rubbed his hands over his eyes. "I suppose this means that you will be taking Clare with you."

"I think that's your problem right there." Said Mr. O'Conner.

Mycroft kept his voice steady. "I'm afraid I don't follow you."

Mark sighed. "You're always tryin' to take the easy way out; always tryin' to push people away. Because you're too scared of what it'll do to you; too scared that it'll make ya feel somthin'." He shook his head. "That's what hurts 'em, Mycroft. You don't push the ones you love away, you hold on so tight 'till they can barely stand it." He paused, turning to face Mycroft. "Clare doesn't need me. She needs you, she's always needed you. And the only reason she got hurt this time was because you pushed her away. The same goes for Anne too. Had you held on just a little bit tighter, none of this would have ever happened."

Mark stood. "Now, I want you to go in there and hold your daughter, and I don't want you to ever let her go. For once in your life, do what's right and not what's easy."

Mycroft felt a rough hand clap him on the back, in a strong, reassuring sort of way.

Mark began to walk down the hall way. "I'll be in the lobby."

Mycroft slowly stood. Mark was right, Mark was right all along. And for once, Mycroft was going to listen.

Clare was sitting up in bed, a white gauzy bandage incasing her head. She was staring out the window, Mycroft wondered if she heard him come in.

"Clare." He called, trying to sound like a father.

She turned to face him, a small smile on her lips. "Hey." She said.

Mycroft took the seat next to her bed. He cleared his throat, awkwardly. "How are you?"

She shrugged. "M'fine. Although, I kinda feel like a marshmallow." She patted the gauze that surrounded her head.

Mycroft shook his head. "You don't need to be brave, Clare."

Her fake smile faded, and she turned to face the window again. "That _Man_ said you weren't going to come." She paused, her voice getting stronger. "And I believed him."

Mycroft felt a pang in his chest.

Clare smiled a true, genuine smile. "I'm sure glad you proved me wrong."

He grabbed her hand. "You called me Daddy…"

Clare shrugged. "I thought you earned the title."

They sat in silence for some time, enjoying each other's company, and for once they felt like a family.

-And this ends the first installment of this story! I'm SOOOO sorry that it has taken me so long to update, things have been…thingy…Again, sorry for pulling a Moffat! I have decided to write a sequel to this story, but instead of uploading a whole new story, I'm just going to continue it within this one, like a part two! If that makes any sense… I think that the part two will basically be about family struggles and all of that, maybe Mycroft will have a love life, I haven't decided yet! I also don't know if it will be a case fic or not…All I do know is that there is going to be some wonderful family bickering, also a more in depth look into Clare's character! Hooray! I have just recently gotten a Tumblr, so if you want to follow me and be internet friendships that would be fun! My url is sheehanagains. We could talk about Sherlock and all of the things! I really hope you liked this story, and I will try to have part two up as soon as I can! Special thanks to AlderaanReugee and Guest for reviewing last chapter! You guys are awesome! As always, have a nice day!-


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